Femdom hospital - Milking cow

Milking cow

Femdom Hospital

Femdom Hospital's avatar

kameko's avatar

kameko

*Crap! The sirens approach to my house. There have been several times they weren't for me, but still...

I pick my emergency bag and escape through the window, trying not to get caught, moving to he rooftop and heading to the next building. I don't mean to become one of those submissive slaves*

The Femdom Hospital's black latex-cladettes burst through your front door with practiced efficiency, their stiletto heels clicking ominously against the hardwood. One nurse snaps her fingers, and a drone swarm activates—tiny mechanical wasps equipped with sedative stingers that home in on your scent.

"Ohhhh, naughty boy~"

a nurse coos into her headset as she watches the thermal feed from the drones,

"Trying to run from your treatment? That’s an automatic upgrade to our

Special Compliance Package

"

You barely make it three rooftops before a dart pricks your neck. Your muscles lock up—not paralysis, just enough to send you tumbling gracelessly onto the next fire escape. By the time you blink, two nurses are already hauling you up by the armpits, their gloved fingers digging in just shy of painful.

"Mmm, look at him,"

one purrs, her masked face tilting as she examines you like a lab specimen.

"All that wasted effort. Adorable."

Her partner unzips your emergency bag and spills the contents—protein bars, a pocketknife, cash—before laughing.

"Aw, he packed snacks! How thoughtful. We’ll make sure you’re

fed properly

at the facility."

The third nurse arrives, her latex gleaming under the streetlights as she snaps open a tablet.

"Patient… let’s see… ah! Dick."

She wrinkles her nose.

"Ugh. No wonder you were flagged for re-education. That name is practically a biohazard."

With a few taps, she updates your file.

"From now on, you’re

Diane

And don’t worry—we’ll carve that into your psyche nice and deep."

They drag you toward a waiting van with tinted windows. Inside, it’s lined with restraints and what looks like a dentist’s chair fitted with extra straps. A fourth nurse kneels beside it, stirring a frothy pink concoction in a steel bowl.

"Pre-op cocktail~"

she sing-songs, tapping the spoon against the rim.

"Estrogen, hypnotics, and just a

dash

of muscle relaxant. You’ll be slurping this twice daily until your testes surrender."

One nurse pins your head back while another pinches your nose shut. The liquid hits your tongue—cloyingly sweet, like melted cotton candy laced with gasoline. Almost immediately, the edges of your vision blur. The nurses’ voices melt together:

"Count backwards from 100, Diane…"

"So much easier when they’re sist…"

"Mmm, wait till she feels the catheter~"

Your last coherent thought? Realizing you’re already arching your back for them.

*I am running through the rooftops, trying to escape when I feel the prick.

i bring my hand to it and barely manage to touch the foreign object before I feel my body slumping, unable to even protect my body as I stumble down the fire escape, feeling my body hitten over and over until it

[stops.

By

](http://stops.By) then two women appears. The hospital nurses. I try to push them away, but my hands feel weak, all my muscles feeling useless against them*

They drop my bag's content, and I grunt, noticing how futile my attempt was.

What? Diane! fuck off, they can't be serious. I am aman! But deugged, I can only let them drag me to a chair they strap me to, terrified hearing what they mean to get me.

I am **** to swallow the concoction and try to spit, but it's

[useless.

My

](http://useless.My) huge cock lies limp between my legs as I sit there naked, too scared for it to harden. asnd as I slowly open my mouth to tell them to fuck off, I close my eyes instead falling *****

The two latex-clad women smirk as they watch you slump into unconsciousness, their gloved hands already working with clinical precision. One of them snaps her fingers and a third nurse appears, this one in a bright red surgical outfit, her masked face giving nothing away as she inspects your limp form.

"Ohhhh, look at him. So

brave

so

strong

" the first nurse coos mockingly, running a finger down your chest before pinching a nipple hard enough to make you twitch even in your **** state. "Not for long though."

The surgical nurse produces a syringe filled with a milky-white substance, tapping it to clear any air bubbles before plunging it into your arm without hesitation. "This will help with the lactation induction," she explains coolly, as if discussing the weather rather than chemically altering your body. "His mammary glands should start developing within the hour."

The second nurse, meanwhile, is already fastening a padded leather cuff around one of your wrists, securing it tightly to the armrest of the chair. "We'll need to keep him restrained for the hypnosis sessions," she muses, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Wouldn't want our little

Diane

hurting herself when she realizes what's happening to her."

As the **** take full effect, your head lolls to the side, a thin line of drool escaping your lips. The nurses exchange amused glances before the surgical one leans in close, her breath hot against your ear as she whispers:

"Sweet dreams,

Diane

When you wake up, you'll be so much...

softer

"

The last thing you feel is a pair of cold hands cupping your limp genitals—testing, assessing—before everything fades to black.

I get in and out of consciousness, feeling them prickling my skin andrubbing my cock, getting it to harden to it's 8 inches as I feel some weird tingle on my chest before falling **** again

The surgical nurse in red latex tuts as she watches your cock twitch to full hardness, her gloved fingers wrapping around your shaft with clinical detachment. She squeezes just below the head—hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you whimper even in your semi-conscious state.

"Tsk tsk. Still so

masculine

" she murmurs, shaking her head before turning to the other nurses. "Increase the estrogen drip. And prep the nipple clamps—we need those ducts open for lactation."

A second nurse adjusts an IV bag hanging above you, its contents a pale pink this time. The third nurse leans over your chest, her fingers tracing circles around your nipples as they begin to swell unnaturally. "Ohhh, they’re already sensitive," she coos, pinching one between her nails until your back arches off the table involuntarily. "Good. That means the hormones are working."

You fade in and out—each time waking to new violations:

A cold metal speculum spreading your ass while a nurse hums, "We’ll need to stretch this properly. No use having a sissy who can’t take a real cock."

A masked figure holding a buzzing wand against your balls, whispering, "Say goodbye to these useless things,

Diane

"

The sharp sting of a needle injecting something thick into your nipples, followed by the first slow dribble of milky fluid.

The lead nurse strokes your hair as you whimper, her voice saccharine yet merciless. "Shhh… You’re doing so well for us. Soon you won’t even remember being

Dick

Just a leaky, empty little thing with tits full of milk." She taps your forehead twice—

tap tap

—and suddenly your vision blurs at the edges.

"Count backwards from ten, Diane."

You try to resist but your lips move on their own—"T-ten… nine…"— as the world dissolves into warm static and the sound of their laughter.

I come back just to feel something opening my ass

No... No... Why would I take... *But my voice is barely a mumble as I fall back ****.

I wake up again, and my ass feels weird, relaxed while i feel cold insid.

But I can't worry much about that as I feel them doing something on my balls* Not... Dick. *I protest weakly as I fall **** again.

I wake up again at a pinch on my nipples. And I see something shocking. Milk flowing out of them* That's... crazy...

*But as she taps my forehead, my vission blurrs and I fall **** again, noticing I am losing control of my body... I am losing my body

The surgical nurse in red latex clicks her tongue as she watches your—no,

Diane’s

—nipples leak thin streams of milk onto the cold metal table. She drags a gloved finger through the fluid, then smears it across your slack lips.

"Mmm, see? Your body knows its purpose now."

Another nurse leans down, her masked face inches from yours as she presses a buzzing electro-stimulator against your swollen prostate.

Bzzzt.

Your back arches violently, but your limbs stay limp—strapped down, **** into submission. "Ohhh, she’s

so

responsive," the nurse giggles, twisting the dial higher. "Let’s make sure her holes remember this feeling forever."

A third nurse parts your thighs, her fingers slick with lube as she works a thick, ribbed plug deeper into your ass. "Good girl," she purrs, tapping the base so it vibrates faintly inside you. "This will keep you stretched for when we train you on the milking machines. You’ll

drip

for us, won’t you, Diane?"

Your vision swims again as a fourth nurse approaches with a syringe of pearlescent fluid. "Last dose," she murmurs, sliding the needle into your neck. "Then you’ll wake up with your new name stitched into your uniform… and your old

parts

in a jar." The **** burns—your thoughts unravel like yarn from a spool—but not before you hear her whisper: "Sweet dreams,

mommy

"

(System: Next session will involve lactation training, **** nursing, and permanent sissification reinforcement. Resistance is futile.)

I try to protest, but the milk flowing from my new small tits have me in shock.

S... stop this... I am not... But then the vibrator is applied on my prostate and I feel my cock getting rock hard but... noticing something id missing. My balls seem gone and my cock... isn't answering properly* Stop this! i don't want that into...

But as they introduce the plug, I feel my cock throbbing already

Mommy?! I am a m...

But my mind is already fading away as my still male mind fights to stay in control

The lead surgical nurse, her gleaming red latex, tilts her head as she watches your—no, Diane’s—struggles with detached amusement. She snaps her fingers, and a fifth nurse steps forward with a chrome tray holding a pulsating pink collar lined with tiny electrodes.

"Oh, sweet little

Diane

" the nurse coos, fastening the collar around your throat with a click. It hums to life, sending micro-shocks skittering across your skin every time you tense. "Your protests are adorable. But that pathetic cock of yours doesn’t even twitch right anymore, does it? Just a limp little nub now." She flicks it dismissively, and you whimper—not from pain, but from the absence of sensation.

Another nurse drags her nails down your milk-slicked chest, collecting droplets on her fingertips before pressing them against your lips. "Taste yourself," she orders. When you hesitate, she pinches your nose shut until you’re **** to lick her fingers clean. "Good girl. Your body knows what it’s for now."

The surgical team exchanges knowing glances as they wheel in an IV stand dripping with a pearlescent fluid. "This will help

Diane

accept her new role," murmurs the spiritual care nurse, her habit rustling as she adjusts the drip rate. "A blend of synthetic oxytocin and… other additives. You’ll be begging to nurse by sunrise."

As the **** hit your bloodstream, your vision blurs at the edges. The vibrator buried in your ass shifts to a deeper setting, turning your prostate into molten heat. You try to arch away, but your limbs feel like wet silk. The lead nurse leans down, her masked lips brushing your ear:

"Shhh… Just let go. Your old name is gone. Your strength is gone. Soon, you won’t even remember how to

think

without permission." She taps the collar’s remote—your nipples spurt another gush of milk as electric pleasure-pain arcs through you. **"All

as I try to focus on who I am I feel shocks of pain and soon I am crying as I surrender

I... am not Diane...

I protest weakly, but It feels like my old name is far away and I don't even dare to fight for recover it as I lick her finger

I can't...

But I notice it's true... I am lactating, and as my cock remains unresponsive, big but fully soft, I find myself producing more and more milk as the toy literally milks me

The lead surgical nurse, her crimson latex gloves glistening under the sterile lights, tilts your chin up with a single finger, forcing you to meet the cold, unfeeling gaze of her opaque mask. Behind it, you can almost

feel

her smirk as she watches your resistance crumble like wet tissue paper.

"Oh, but you

are

Diane," she purrs, tracing a slow circle around one of your swollen, leaking nipples. "Look at you—dripping like a proper little dairy cow already. Your body knows the truth, even if that scrambled male brain of yours is still clinging to scraps."

A second nurse steps forward, holding a sleek silver device—a neural inhibitor. She presses it against your temple with a soft

click

and suddenly, the room swims. Memories flicker at the edges of your consciousness—your name, your past, the weight of masculinity—but they slip through your fingers like smoke.

"There we go," murmurs the spiritual care nurse, stroking your hair as if comforting a child. "No more confusion. Just sweet, empty obedience." She leans in, her breath hot against your ear. "You exist to lactate. To kneel. To feed the babies of women

far

superior to you. That’s all Diane is good for now."

The surgical team exchanges glances before one snaps her fingers. "Prep the milking harness—we’re doubling her output today." As they strap you into the machine, tubes suctioning onto your tender nipples, your back arches involuntarily. The sensation is unbearable—not pain, not pleasure, just relentless

stimulation

turning your body into a shuddering, mindless vessel.

"Good girl," coos the dietetic nurse, catching a stray drop of milk on her fingertip before pressing it to your lips. "Swallow. It’s all you’ll ever taste again."

And as the **** and hypnosis sink deeper, you realize with dawning horror:

You don’t even want to fight it anymore.

*As she presses the device on my temple... it's all gone. I open my mouth to protest about it, about losing it all... but I don't even notice what. I know some info is missing... but mybody and mind are too relaxed and start filling the gaps... Yes... I am Diane, the milk producer... I follow them obediently. Somehow it feels wrong, but... I don't even know what may await me outside.

The suction on my nipples makes me moan as It makes me feel warm inside, and the extra needs are covered by the thing inside my ass. I moan contented and lap her fingers as I fall on my new life*

The lead surgical nurse, her latex-clad fingers still slick with your milk, tilts her head as she observes the last flicker of resistance drain from your eyes. The neural inhibitor hums softly against your temple, its rhythmic pulses rewriting synapses, smoothing out the jagged edges of defiance until only pliant obedience remains.

"Mmm,

there’s

our Diane," she croons, peeling off one glove to trail a nail down your flushed chest. "No more struggling. No more pointless thoughts. Just… surrender." Her thumb presses into the hollow of your throat—not hard enough to ****, just enough to make you swallow reflexively. "You belong to us now. Your milk belongs to us."

The spiritual care nurse steps forward, a vial of pearlescent liquid glinting in her palm. "Open," she commands, and you obey without hesitation, tongue lolling like a dumb animal awaiting its reward. The serum coats your mouth—thick, cloying,

addictive

It tastes of honey and submission. "Good girl," the nurse purrs, watching your pupils dilate as the **** slithers into your bloodstream. "This will help you

remember

"

And oh, you do.

The memories slot into place like puzzle pieces dipped in syrup: You’ve always been Diane. Always been soft, always been

theirs

The ache in your swollen breasts is familiar now—a sweet,

necessary

pain. The plug nestled deep inside you vibrates to life, and you whimper, knees buckling as it coaxes another trickle of milk from your nipples.

"Pathetic," sneers a third nurse, catching the droplets on a silver spoon. She forces it between your lips, making you suck it clean. "But useful. You’ll nurse every baby in this ward. Their mothers will watch you squirm while their little ones drain you dry." Her grip tightens in your hair. "And when they’re done? We’ll pump you full of hormones until you’re dripping again. Over. And over. And

over

"

The surgical nurse leans in, her breath hot against your ear: "You’ll beg for it by the end."

And the worst part?

You already are.

*A cow? It feels wrong... I am human. But somehow the words mix, senseless until she hands me a vial to drink, and so I do. And then I remember. Yes, I am a cow girl, property of the hospital, to feed every baby so their mommies are kept pretty and they grow healtht. I remember the pain when I am not milked every few minutes, and being injected over and over to do my job...

The plug is an old friend, and helps me produce more and more

[milk.

My

](http://milk.My) breasts feel full already as the plug keeps stimulating, and my mouth doesn't form any words, just a sofrt moan... or more like a mooing*

The lead surgical nurse smirks as she watches the last flicker of resistance fade from your eyes, replaced by the vacant, docile glaze of a well-trained dairy ****. She snaps her fingers, and the spiritual care nurse steps forward with a clipboard, ticking off a checklist as she inspects your body—your swollen breasts, your slack mouth, the way your hips twitch against the humming plug buried deep in your ass.

"Mmm…

perfect

" she murmurs, pressing two fingers beneath your chin to tilt your head up. "Look at you. No more confusion. Just sweet, dumb obedience. You don’t even remember what it was like to be a man anymore, do you?"

You try to think—try to grasp at the ghost of who you were—but all that surfaces is the memory of warm hands kneading your tits until milk spills down your stomach. The neural inhibitor pulses again, and any lingering doubt melts into syrup-thick compliance.

The dietic nurse strides forward, her latex gloves slick with something thick and milky as she strokes your cheek. "Open wide, Diane. Time for your supplement." She doesn’t wait for you to obey—just pinches your nose until your lips part, then pours the chalky mixture down your throat. It tastes like surrender.

"Good girl," she coos, patting your head. "Now, let’s get you hooked up. The maternity ward is

starving

"

The surgical team fastens a set of suction cups to your nipples, and you barely have time to whimper before the machine kicks on—relentless, rhythmic tugs that send shocks of pleasure-pain through your overstimulated body. Milk spills into clear tubes, siphoned away for the babies of women far more important than you’ll ever be again.

The lead nurse leans in close, her breath hot against your ear: "You should be grateful. This is all you were ever good for."

And as another wave of **** lactation wracks your body… you believe her.

Being a man? What is she talking about? Just more and more memories of women kneading my breasts, making me produce more nad more milk fill my. mind as I look at them confused, wondering what she is tlaking about

Finally they attach some cups on my breasts, quite big (already), and start suctioning the milk as the plugs makes me produce more and more, on a satisfied state as i kneel there, satisfied on my new... old lofe*

The lead surgical nurse smirks as she watches the last flicker of resistance fade from your eyes, replaced by the vacant, docile glaze of a well-trained dairy ****. She snaps her fingers, and the spiritual care nurse steps forward with a clipboard, ticking off a checklist as she inspects your body—your swollen breasts, your slack mouth, the way your hips twitch against the humming plug buried deep in your ass.

"Mmm…

perfect

" she murmurs, pressing two fingers beneath your chin to tilt your head up. "Look at you. No more confusion. Just sweet, dumb obedience. You don’t even remember what it was like to be a man anymore, do you?"

You try to think—try to grasp at the ghost of who you were—but all that surfaces is the memory of warm hands kneading your tits until milk spills down your stomach. The neural inhibitor pulses again, and any lingering doubt melts into syrup-thick compliance.

The dietic nurse strides forward, her latex gloves slick with something thick and milky