by Big Kahuna
___________________________
Kat was as good as her word. She came by Melissa’s trailer later in the day to take a full battery of measurements, as well as to deliver the bottle of hucow milk that Dr. Roberts had promised. She was still completely nude, though she had added another sort of piercing to complement her walking gallery of body art: a buttplug tail. Melissa presumed that the doctor must have given it to her, hoping that it would help to ease her patients’ trauma. If so, it was working. Special Agent Dillon would probably go ballistic if she saw it, but then it appeared that Kat was every bit as fearless as the good doctor.
She also had a Lone Star Dairy stainless steel travel mug with her, filled with coffee, that judging by the color and thickness had some freshly bottled cream in it. The little goth’s audacity caused Melissa to laugh out loud.
Kat chatted away the whole time she worked, relieving her client of the burden of conversation. The DHS had given her her very own trailer, and was even now bringing in materials, tables, a serger, a cover stitcher, an industrial grade sewing machine for leather work. Melissa listened without taking any of it in. It was just a pleasure to hear someone speak English.
It took Kat a little more than half an hour to get all of Melissa’s measurements, the last five minutes being spent measuring the vast acreage of her breasts. When she was done, she put her measuring tape—a ten-footer—around her neck, then stepped back and sighed. “You want to know how big they are, don’t you?”
Melissa nodded. Kat had said that she was last on her list, and so had probably been through this six times before.
“Melissa, I could tell you your cup size, but it wouldn’t mean anything. It would just be so many ‘Z’s after a band size. I might even be able to tell you how much they weigh, though that wouldn’t be terribly accurate. What I can tell you is that they are huge, in fact they are the largest breasts I have ever seen. They may even be the largest in the world.”
“My breasts...?”
Kat nodded. “Most of my clients are porn stars, so I know what I’m talking about. Would you like to meet Melony Cox-Zucker? I know she’d like to meet you.”
Melissa blushed at this compliment, but Kat continued. “I’ve already spoken to everyone else. They told me that Dr. Roberts is arranging breast reductions for you all, after your milk dries up. None of them is going to take her up on it.”
Melissa was stunned by this news. The initial drying-off process was supposed to take about a week, so the doctor had said, after which surgery could restore them to more normal proportions. “None of them?”
Kat shook her head. “They’re all thinking about careers in big tit porn, once their tattoos are removed and their hair comes in. Are you interested? I can introduce you around.”
Melissa didn’t know what to say. A career in porn? It was an interesting notion, but that kind of life did not interest her. It was all very well to fantasize about getting porked by some well-hung stud for hours on end and be paid for it, but the fact was that there was nothing they could give her to match the intensity of the life she’d been living. That would take two or three guys at least.
“I know it’s a lot to take in at the moment,” said Kat, “but it’s an option that you might want to explore, especially since you would be the biggest, and therefore the best. You could make a serious amount of money, not to mention you’d have your pick of co-stars...” and here the little goth grinned, pulling the tape measure back over her head and sliding it between her fingers until her hands were about ten inches apart, “...if you know what I mean.”
Melissa laughed, knowing precisely what she meant. Big money and big cocks. It was something to consider. Evidently a part of her was already considering this, her somewhat phallic nipples standing at attention, a bead of milk forming on the left one, gathering in size until it hung there a moment and dropped off. Kat caught it deftly in her coffee cup and took a drink.
“Think about it, Melissa,” she said, smacking her lips. “Your boobs could make you a fortune.”
___________________________
Melissa sat on the couch in her trailer, looking out the window at nothing in particular. There was really nothing to look at. Everyone was gone. The investigation was wrapped up at this end, all of the evidence gathered, the agents all dispersed to complete other tasks. It was just her and Dr. Roberts now. The other trailers had all been towed away, except for hers, the medical trailer, and the trailer that the doctor was using as her residence.
It had taken eight days for Melissa’s milk to dry up, more or less. More because she was the most productive of them, less because she had a tendency to leak, especially when she was feeling emotional, which was often.
She was down to four milkings a day, producing a bit less than a pint each time. She was no longer using her milking station, opting instead to use one of Rance’s homemade breast pumps, as Dr. Roberts’s breast pump could not accommodate her gargantuan nipples. This was fine with Melissa, as Rance’s homemade unit made milking a pleasurable experience. She would be sorry to give it up.
She got up from the couch, leaving Maggie the cat to snooze at the other end of it. The fat, finicky feline was definitely going to miss the life too, especially the milk. Feeling the need to stretch her legs, she decided to go for a walk. She exited the trailer with the usual difficulty. Even though her breasts were producing less, they had not shrunk at all. Nor would they.
“I regret to inform you all,” the doctor had said to her assembled patients just three days before, “but I have been going through the data that Mr. Rifkin left behind, and it appears that you will not be experiencing any reduction in the size of your breasts.”
Melissa glanced about at the faces of her sister hucows, seeing subtle smiles here and there. This was certainly good news to them, considering their future plans. Did Dr. Roberts know that none of them would be getting their offered breast reductions?
“In fact you will experience quite the opposite. Due to the drugs and the diet that Mr. Rifkin had been feeding you, your bodies are geared for optimal milk production, meaning that the vast majority of the fat you consume will be stored in your breasts, whether you are lactating or not.” The doctor paused here, shifting uncomfortably. “The data suggests that this is a permanent condition, and that you would experience similar regrowth even after a breast reduction.”
The subtle smiles were now broad smiles, which told Melissa that they were all thinking the same thing: point me to the nearest KFC. It appeared that big tit porn was soon to become a whole lot bigger.
Melissa smiled at the memory of that meeting while she walked about the site, naked except for a pair of leather sandals that Kat had ordered in. She was used to being naked, and who was going to see her? Besides, the weather was warm, and today was going to be her last day here. She might as well enjoy the freedom while she could.
Her first stop was the milking shed. It was unlocked, per Dr. Roberts’s orders, as she required access to anything on the site at any time. Melissa knew this was a lie, as the doctor had not entered the building for several days. She was doing it for therapeutic reasons, allowing her patients to come to terms with what had happened.
The big room was dark now, the only light coming through the bank of windows facing the milking stations. She leaned against the unit that had been hers, thinking about what her life had been, and what it might be tomorrow. She had called her parents, to let them know that everything was all right. Sorry, no, she would not be bringing her rich boyfriend up to Wisconsin to meet them. He had left her unexpectedly. Her mother was supportive but not surprised. Men were animals that only wanted what they could get out of a woman. Melissa agreed with her, saying that she had given him everything she had to give.
She walked into the pasteurizing and bottling room, remembering the camaraderie of her sister hucows. Farewells had been tearful, though hugging had taken considerable effort. Given the boobage problem they usually settled for air-kisses, although De
wdrop had invented a curious custom called the ‘nipple bump.’ Suffice it to say it had caught on quickly.
Melissa ran a hand over one of the chiller tanks. Like the rest of the equipment it was turned off, awaiting government auction once the investigation was finally closed. In a few weeks there would be nothing left of Rance’s operation, and no one would ever know it existed. Special Agent Dillon had given everyone non-disclosure forms to sign, informing them that they would go to jail if they spoke about their experiences here. Melissa wondered if anyone in government was smart enough to realize the redundancy in threatening a cow with imprisonment.
She went out into the barnyard next. How many hours had she whiled away out here, thinking about absolutely nothing? It seemed incomprehensible to her now, how she had managed to withstand it all, or rather how Buttercup had. It was a little frightening really, how well she’d assimilated. She supposed that it spoke to the apparently limitless power of the human mind, the ability to cope, the ability to endure, and even win out against impossible odds.
Then again perhaps Rance was right all along. Maybe she really was meant to be a cow.
___________________________
The drive to her apartment was a little jarring. Melissa had not been inside a moving conveyance for almost six months, her body quite unused to the starts and stops of city traffic. She was sitting in the passenger seat of Dr. Roberts’s SUV, the seat being pushed all the way back so that her chemically enhanced bosom only lightly pressed against the dashboard.
It was thanks to Kat, however, that her breasts were not resting in her lap. She was back in a bra again, the feeling of support and compression as bizarre to her as being in traffic. It was comfortable, though, as well as being a marvel of engineering to rival the Aswan Dam. It was much like her earlier ones, having straps and stays, though Kat had switched from nylon mesh to Kevlar, the latter being just about the only thing that would support her incredible bust short of carbon nanotubes. It also had removable cups, a requirement since she was still in milk, and probably would be for several weeks.
The rest of her outfit was rather dressy: white blouse, black blazer, knee length black skirt, and black hose to cover up her tattoos. It did not hide or even diminish her massive endowments—none of Kat’s clothing did. “If you want a hoodie, buy a hoodie,” the little goth had said. When it came to fashion and tits, Kat had very definite ideas.
She was also wearing a wig. Kat had included three along with her many outfits: there was short blonde, medium-long blonde (which she was wearing now), and hooker-length blonde. Kat had subcontracted them out to a colleague of hers, which explained their somewhat pornic styling. Melissa wondered if it said something about herself that she preferred them to her original hair.
They were almost to her apartment now. Traffic was heavy in the city, even for the end of rush hour. This was fine, as she was in no hurry. Melissa wondered if she would ever be in a hurry again.
A strange thing did occur when they were about three blocks from her apartment, while they were stopped at a traffic light. An eighteen-wheeler pulled to a stop in the lane next to theirs. It was a cattle truck. Melissa looked out her window, to see a cow looking back at her through the trailer’s horizontal slats. It was a Guernsey, judging by the brown splotches on her coat. Melissa looked into the cow’s big brown eyes, feeling a kinship with her, an instant bond. The cow blinked and shook her head. Melissa blinked back and shook her head, too. The truck rolled forward, taking her new friend with it.
Dr. Roberts parked in the no-parking zone in front of Melissa’s building, the government plates on her SUV allowing her this privilege. “Are you ready, Melissa?” she asked, putting a hand on her patient’s arm, a gesture of comfort.
Melissa didn’t move or speak for almost a full minute. She sat there in her seat, looking through the windshield at a world in motion, people hustling and bustling, all of them going to somewhere or from somewhere, every movement purposeful.
“It’s funny, you know,” she said finally, “Rance.”
Dr. Roberts narrowed her eyes at her patient, her expression uncannily like Agent Dillon’s. “There was nothing funny about him, Melissa. He was a monster.”
“Yes, I suppose he was,” Melissa replied, distractedly watching a couple as they walked down the street, both of them with cell phones plastered to their ears. “Where do you suppose a monster would get all that technology?”
This question seemed to surprise Dr. Roberts. “Well...I don’t know. Agent Dillon would probab—”
“The thing about being a cow, Doctor, is time. You have a lot of it. Having that kind of time allows you to ruminate on things. Did you know that I have the largest breasts in the world? I do, according to Kat.”
The doctor looked perplexed. “I suppose it’s possible. It’s not really—”
“Do you remember telling us that Rance had been using drugs to boost our performance as well as our bosoms? Agent Dillon told me the same thing the morning after we were rescued, and that the blood tests you performed confirmed it.” Melissa turned her head so that she could look Dr. Roberts in the eyes. “Only that’s not exactly true, is it?”
Dr. Roberts took a deep breath and then smiled. “You’ve obviously ruminated on the matter, Melissa. You obviously have a theory. Why don’t you tell me.”
“All right,” Melissa said, her voice sounding strange in her head, “I will. Do you know what I thought was the oddest thing about Rance? It was how well he seemed to know me. What I was thinking, what I would do, how I would react. He knew me better than I knew myself. How could a man know all of this, I asked myself. The answer was that he had to have a great deal of experience, as well as formal training. Rance was a psychologist, wasn’t he?”
Dr. Roberts did not reply, nor give any indication as to whether Melissa was on the right track. You would make one hell of a poker player, Melissa thought.
“But that only led to more questions,” she continued, feeling slightly giddy. This was more than she had spoken at any time in the last six months. “He hacked my cell phone and my laptop, hid cameras in my apartment, hypnotized me, brainwashed me, drugged me, and altered my body chemistry so that I could compete with Bossy at the next Texas State Fair. Did he learn those skills in medical school? Doubtful. So how did he know all of this? He didn’t, I realized. He couldn’t. No one person could. But a group could. A government agency could.” Melissa searched the doctor’s face for confirmation, but the attractive redhead wasn’t giving anything away.
“But a government agency wouldn’t,” Melissa said, her voice beginning to quaver a bit, “therefore he had to be working alone. A rogue agent.”
“A rogue agent?” repeated Dr. Roberts incredulously. “You sound like a romance novelist, Melissa.”
“Your agent, I’m willing to bet.”
Dr. Roberts pursed her lips but remained silent, appraising the woman sitting in the passenger seat. Finally she spoke. “Melissa, I’m a doctor.”
“It was Agent Dillon who gave me the idea,” Melissa went on. “She mentioned that the FDA feared that someone might be planning to use imported hormones to infect the cattle population, which caused me to wonder—what would happen if someone actually did do that?”
Dr. Roberts started to speak, but Melissa kept going. “The government would want to have a contingency plan in place. The loss of beef cattle would not be an insurmountable problem. Pigs, sheep, and even horses could supplement people’s diets, but if the milk supply became infected, or even suspect, then there would be disaster.
“Powdered milk wouldn’t last, goat’s milk wouldn’t be enough, nor would almond, soy, and other milks combined. You could import milk, but would other countries export one of their most important staples if they feared the same thing might happen to them? They would not. But this country has another commodity that could be exploited if worse came to worse—women.”
Melissa looked over at the doctor, curious to see how she would respond. “P
lease continue, Melissa,” she said, her forearms crossed beneath her impressive bosom. “This is a fascinating tale.”
“This country has nine and a quarter million milk cows that produce twenty-three billion gallons of milk annually,” Melissa continued, feeling emboldened. “I know this because I looked it up, after I broke the world record on my second day lactating. If the country’s milk producing ability were decimated by an act of terrorism, women could conceivably be co-opted as human dairy cattle to fill the void.”
Dr. Roberts smiled, though there was a slight chilliness to her expression. “So your theory is that I was heading a project whose goal was to turn the women of America into milk cows in case of a national emergency?”
“Women went into the factories to do their part during World War II,” Melissa countered. “They could go into the fields if a similar crisis were to occur. And you wouldn’t need all of them, just thirty million or so, probably low income women, or women on welfare. The government could even go so far as to make getting their welfare payments contingent upon production.” Melissa paused here, gathering her strength. “Only something went wrong, didn’t it?”
The doctor pursed her lips again, her green eyes shining in the SUV’s interior lighting. “Yes, something did. How did you know?”
“You seemed too familiar with the equipment, with the whole process. Also you said that the amount we were producing was impossible. How would you know something was impossible unless you had already proved it? And then there was your report to Agent Dillon.” Melissa smiled, pleased that her deductions were proving correct. “If prescription drugs could grow boobs like mine, the world would know about it. At least half of the plastic surgeons in the country would go out of business, and a double-d cup would be considered flat-chested.”
Dr. Roberts shook her head. “That was Rance’s doing, your boobs being that big. The drug that causes the breast growth targets the endocrine system, specifically the pituitary gland. The more you give a subject, the bigger her breasts get, the more milk she can produce. We didn’t grow such massive breasts in the lab, but Rance was shooting for volume production. He also knew that such heavy breasts would hobble you, make it difficult for you to escape, and further reinforce your role. He really was a rather gifted psychologist.”