Just in time

Your large chest makes driving a chore, but you arrive at the milking station right on time. The whole thing is set up like an open barn with stalls open to the street. Women are strapped down to benches as mechanical machines suck their boobs dry and fucking machines pound their needy cunts. Dominants just walking down the street are free to watch as long as they like.

As you hurry over to the check in desk, one man comments, “Damn! Look at the udders on that cow!”

And fuck. You look down at your chest. You do have udders now. Breasts aren’t this big. Breasts don’t need to be milked. You have udders, and women don’t have udders, cows do. Too bad you left the rulebook at home. You know what your next rule is going to be.

Thankfully, you pre-paid so all you have to do is give your name to the woman at the desk and soon you're being led over to an empty stall. They make you pick which dildo you are going to be fucked with and thinking about Janet and her promise to make you work dildo even bigger, you decide on a big one. Not as big as the monster from work yesterday, but big enough that it will definitely push your limits.

The man straps you down to the bench. Your udders are slotted into rubber sacks and the dildo position at your entrance. Your hands and feet have been secured to the bench and you know that no matter how much you beg, you won’t be released until the hour you paid for is up.

He flips a switch and both machines kick into life at once. It is agony. The uncomfortably large dildo pounding into you at an unforgiving pace, stretching your entrance too big. The bags around your udders tightly squeezing and working your engorged flesh. It is heaven. The dildo hits your g-spot with every thrust. The relief as your udders are slowly drained of the excess pressure.

Sobbing, you aren’t sure if you should be begging for release or for more. The one thinking you do know is that you need to come. You start pleading with everyone watching to let you come, but it soon just devolves into an endless litany of “please, please, please.”

The watching doms laugh at you. One woman even tells you “Good subs don’t cum.” And if it were possible, her words alone would have sent you over the edge.

Maybe it's an hour, but it feels like an eternity later when the machines abruptly shut off.

“Times up.” says the man harshly as he unstraps you and pulls the dildo from your pussy, “Move your fat ass, bitch!”

You roll off the bench and onto the ground. Your legs are jelly, unable to support you. Your udders are no longer too large and engorged with milk. Instead they are wrinkled empty sacks of flesh hanging limp and ugly from your chest. The part of your brain that somehow knows things about the universe you’ve created recognizes this as normal, knows that you should enjoy the relief while it lasts because soon they will fill and swell painfully with milk again.

A dominant man who had been watching you offers you his hand, “That was quite the show, miss.”

You haven’t been referred to as miss since you started changing the rules you were a teenager and you can’t help but be charmed. You take his hand and he helps you stand. “Thank you, sir.”