Recontextualizing earlier answers

You know you could get her to do whatever simply with outrageous alternatives: Like, would you rather have sex with me in public or explode in a shower of candy hearts - but where was the sport in that? The trick in your ability, you feel, is in either giving two options which are exactly equivalent, and make it hard for her to choose; Or alternatively, to give her questions that are unproblematic no brainers until you've gotten her to do what you like out of her own volition. Her sensitive nipples were an example of the first kind of question - you still feel somewhat annoyed that she didn't pick the constantly embarressing outfits, the thought of which made your newly massive hog twitch. What seemed like a shot worth of precum pleasurably bubbled from its tip. It was time to try out the second path.

"Alright" you say as you cuddle yourself into your moms tits. They were a little rounder than breasts should be, and a whole lot firmer than they would be at your mom's age, but it was not the hardness of some artificial size agent but rather gave the feeling of the tits being naturally filled-up like you imagine a breastfeeding girl's tits to feel. You remember that it was you that gave her lactation and that gives you an idea.

"Would you rather..." you begin slowly "lactate all the time like you do right now or only on certain days? You'd fill up even more with milk in the downtime of course, but you wouldn't have to constantly milk yourself."

"I'd rather it was only on certain days, of course." she responded. "I have no idea how to go to work if my shirt will always be soaked with mother's milk."

You rub yourself up against her thigh as she talks. The thought is an aluring one, but she had made her - obvious - choice.

"Understood" you respond. "And would you rather some stranger would decide on what days you lactate or your loving son?" you ask. Horned up, you add: "And I am loving" and press your mouth against her, forcing your tongue inside. You so want to penetrate her with your constant hard-on, but you gotta pace yourself. After you have released her from the kiss, saliva still spanning a string between your lips, she gasps and says: "Well you of course, at least I know you and can depend on you to be kind about it."

"Well." you give a fake sigh, then. "Then we have a problem, don't we?"

"What do you mean?" her beautiful eyes go wide.

"Every day, there must be milk for breakfast" you remind her of a choice she had forgotten as soon as it had been made. "And I am not a cruel man: I will not let you lactate every day. No, I'll let the milk accumulate, let your tits swell up over the week and your nipples get more and more sensitive, only to have them errupt one day of the week, when you will be lactating heavily the whole day without pause..." you catch yourself. "Ahem. As I say, I am not so cruel as to have you lacate every day. So now we have this problem: How can we keep that promise... No, how can we uphold _that fact _of a daily milking for breakfast?"

She looks at you concerned. It is clear she doesn't grasp the metaphysical pull that you are refering to, but clearly, she is compelled to do everything she can to keep the decisions coherent. She bites her lip in uncertainty, frantically looking for an out. Then, just as you've hoped, her eyes wander down to your boxers, now quite heavily stained by the constant stream of pre-cum she has decided you to extrude.

You grin.