Story: The Ticking of the Clock, Part 2

Previous chapter:
One

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Yvette took the milker to work on Tuesday, and set it beside her in the small office she occupied in the Linguistics Department, but she found it hard to wait until lunchtime before using it, and so at 11 am she found herself unbuttoning her blouse and removing her bra and connecting the painful cups to her large breasts.

She had intended to just let it milk her as she worked, but she discovered that the cruel industrial machine was actually quite excruciatingly painful – in a bad way – if she wasn’t masturbating at the same time, and so she sighed, and pulled her skirt up to her waist, and began to play with her pussy.

Her eyes fell on the sticker of Simon on the machine, and once again she had a brief unwelcome fantasy of the real Simon squeezing her tits and fucking her cunt, so instead she turned to her computer and tried to focus on something else.

If she were at home, she’d look at some porn.  Some breeding porn.  But she couldn’t look at porn on her work computer.

Tentatively, she typed “breeding” into the university’s custom browser.

It returned many results – all of them academic.

There was an article about animal husbandry, and getting cows pregnant.  She read about bulls fucking cows, and bull penises, and average sperm production.  There were pictures.  She looked at them as she masturbated.  There was discussion about how cows were built to be impregnated.  There was discussion of milk production.

Without really understanding what she was doing, Yvette downloaded the article, opened it in a word processor, and then replaced every reference to female cows with her own name.   Then she read it again.

“In order to produce milk, Yvette has to give birth, which means she has to get pregnant every year.  In the absence of a natural encounter between Yvette and a bull, this should be accomplished with frozen bull semen.”

“The farmer should watch Yvette closely for signs of oestrus, indicating that she is ovulating and receptive to breeding.  Yvette should be inseminated at the first opportunity after she is seen to be in heat.  If Yvette is in heat during her evening milking she should be inseminated the following morning. If she is in heat in the morning, she should be inseminated the same day.”

“After thawing the semen, the farmer or a specialised technician inserts a syringe-like inseminator into Yvette’s cervix and vagina to reach her uterus.   At the same time, he or she inserts a gloved hand into Yvette’s rectum to manipulate the uterus through the rectal wall.”

Yvette moaned, a slutty, desperate moan.  She reached behind herself, and pushed one finger up into her anus.  It was warm, and already lubricated with sweat.  She wiggled the finger…

… and suddenly she was cumming.  Cumming from pain in her tits.  Cumming from a finger up her ass.  Cumming from comparing herself to a cow.

What was wrong with her?   What kind of a slut was she?  Was she not an intelligent woman?  Sure, she might have interesting hormones flooding her body, but she should still be able to control herself and not behave like a disgusting whore – shouldn’t she?

She took off the milking machine and pulled down her skirt and tried to focus on her work.

But at 2.30 in the afternoon her tits were feeling full and aching, and she was casting longing looks at the milking machine, and it didn’t take her long to give in and re-attach the milking cups and begin masturbating again.

She searched for breeding again, and this time she found papers written by Simon himself.  She found herself reading them, in a way she hadn’t really before.

She read his paper on how women displayed less brain activity than men except when they were thinking about sex, babies, or men.

She read a study he had done where he had kept women aroused for a week straight without allowing them to orgasm, and then tested what they would agree to in order to cum.  One woman had literally transferred her house and everything she owned to Simon in order for permission to orgasm.  Another had agreed to get a boob job.  A third, who identified as a lesbian, had had unprotected sex with Simon on camera, subsequently gotten pregnant, and been forced by Simon to carry the baby to term.

Yvette was able to find the footage of that.  She stared at the naked body of the lesbian, moaning with shame and lust, as an undressed Simon slowly shoved his cock into her virginal pussy.  She stared at Simon and the woman, and masturbated as the machine sucked on her tits, and when Simon ejaculated, cumming into the lesbian’s womb and impregnating her, Yvette orgasmed too.

She saved the video to her computer.  For research purposes.  And she sent a copy to her phone as well.

There was a knock on her door just as she did.  Yvette jumped, and hastily disconnected the milking machine, replaced her bra and blouse, and pulled down her skirt.

“Come in,” she said.

It was Simon – and he grinned broadly when he saw her oversized tits.

“I see the injection is working,” he said.  “Have you fucked anyone yet?”

“Of course I haven’t,” said Yvette.  “And now that I think about it, even if I had, how would you know?”

“You’d tell me,” said Simon confidently.  “We find that once most women reach the stage where they’re desperate to breed, their limited cunt-addled female brains have trouble crafting falsehoods, and they take a certain pleasure and pride in sharing their breeding activity with men.”

“You’re disgusting,” said Yvette.

“Am I?” asked Simon.   And his grin was so broad that for a moment Yvette wondered whether he somehow *knew* that she’d just masturbated to a video of him impregnating a lesbian.

“Get out,” said Yvette.  “I don’t need to see you until this is over.”

Simon gave a mocking half-salute, and left.

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She left the milking machine on her tits for nearly two hours that night as she watched breeding porn and masturbated.  When she checked the tanks she discovered that her boobs had produced approximately a full teacup of milk.  She poured it out and tasted a little.  It was sweet and fatty.  She blushed, grimaced, and poured the rest down the sink, before heading to bed.

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She started her Wednesday with the milking machine and masturbation while in bed.  She got out her phone and watched the footage of Simon raping the lesbian again.  She orgasmed quickly, but the machine was still sucking on her tits, so she got curious and looked up the rest of Simon’s documentation of the lesbian’s experience.   

There were photos there of the woman nude, in the third trimester of her pregnancy.  Yvette almost moaned.  The woman looked so *good*, with her big swollen tits and her beautiful round fecund belly.  Yvette found herself rubbing her own belly, imagining what it would feel like with a baby inside it…

Her eyes widened suddenly as she realised what was happening – what she was thinking about.  She yanked the milking machine off her tits and got out of bed quickly.

She would *not* fantasise about pregnancy.  She did not want to get pregnant.  She did not want to have a baby.  This was nonsense.  

As she pulled the cups from her breasts, the machine made a sudden little choking noise, and shut down.   A puff of smoke hissed from its motor.

Yvette swore, and examined the machine.  It was quickly clear that it was broken.  It wouldn’t turn on.  The motor was shot.  

She sent an email to her colleagues to once again notify that she was taking the morning off work.   She dressed – noting with some worry that her new maternity lingerie was already starting to feel tight across her tits – and then drove to the Female Utility Project building.

The lobby of the building was gross.  It was filled with framed pictures of naked and half-naked women.  One showed a buxom naked woman sucking on a man’s cock.   Another showed a naked pregnant woman (and Yvette felt another burst of admiration for how good her body looked).   A third showed a woman in a kitchen, naked but for an apron which barely covered her large tits.  A fourth showed a nude woman on all fours with a tray of food balanced on her back.  A fifth showed a nude woman strapped into a large milking machine in what appeared to be a farmyard barn.

Beneath each image was the same plaque, which read “USEFUL WOMAN”.

She stalked through the lobby and made her way to Simon’s office.

He looked up as she entered.

“Yvette,” he said.   “How good to see you.  Have you come to admit you’ve fucked a man?”

“No,” she said.  She held up the milking machine she was carrying.   “Your stupid machine broke.”

“My apologies,” said Simon.   “Would you like another?”

She hadn’t expected it to be this easy.

“Um, yes,” she said.

He looked at her.  “We actually don’t have any more of that model.   But luckily your udders have grown significantly since you started.  You might actually fit a more powerful machine.  Take off your shirt and bra so I can measure.”

She crossed her arms over her chest.  “You wish,” she said.  “Just give me the machine.”

He frowned.  “Yvette, these machines are not cheap, and you’ve already broken one of them.  If I’m going to give you another one, I first of all want to ensure it’s actually going to work for you.  And also, to be honest, I’d like data on your breast growth for our records.  The serum *is* experimental, after all.  So please, either show me your tits, or leave my office.”

She pouted, and considered leaving.  But was he implying that her breasts were too big for normal milk pumps?  She didn’t know enough about milk pumps to know if this was plausible.  And could she afford a milk pump?

After a few awkward moments, she unbuttoned her blouse, and removed the cups of her maternity bra to expose her breasts to Simon’s gaze.

“Very good,” said Simon.   “You have nice fuckbags, Yvette.”

She blushed.

He took a tape and measured the base of her breasts.  He pulled the tape as tight as he could, constricting her tits painfully, and cinched it in place before taking a note of the measurement.

He used another tape to measure her bust, passing over her nipples in front and going around her back, and then a third to get her underbust.  He didn’t leave these in place, though.

“Phenomenal,” he said.   “If I may ask, what was your bra size before we began the treatment?”

“A double D,” she said.   “Or I guess an E in Europe.”

“Ample,” he said, “but if I understand the system, I suspect you’re now an H cup, and still growing.”

She winced.  Her maternity bras had been for a G cup.  “Oh my God,” she whispered.  “They’re huge.”

“Plenty of females have H cup breasts,” he said.  “It’s not an objective measure of size – it’s just based on bust versus underbust.” He paused, and added, “although they do look particularly large on you because you’re otherwise relatively thin.”

He laughed.  “But this is what a woman’s body wants.  Biologically, every woman envies the cow.  Every woman wants giant udders full of milk.  It’s what your udders – what your entire body – was designed for.  You’re just finding your biological destiny.”

“Fuck you,” said Yvette.   “Please, just give me the machine.”

“No, let me show you,” said Simon.  “Under your theory of female empowerment, if I reached out and just grabbed a woman’s tits and squeezed, she would experience no pleasure.  She would be outraged.  She would slap me.  But watch…”

And he reached out and grabbed one of Yvette’s tits in each hand, and squeezed hard.

A jet of milk squirted from each nipple onto the floor.  Yvette opened her mouth, thinking she was either going to protest, or make a squeal of pain – but what came out instead was a slutty moan of lust, and she felt her cunt throb with wet desire.

“See?” said Simon.   “And I bet you’d like me to keep milking you, wouldn’t you?”

She opened her mouth again – and said nothing.  Her face went bright red.

And she nodded.

Simon went and found a bucket and put it on his desk.  He led Yvette to the desk, and then began to rhythmically squeeze her tits, trying to hurt her as much as possible with each squeeze.  

Milk squirted rhythmically from one breast, then the other, into the bucket.  Yvette felt her legs going weak.  Her cunt was pulsing with slutty need.  She had trained herself to associate painful milking with sexual arousal.   

She tried to control herself, but she couldn’t, and just as her milk flow was starting to taper off, she had a hands-free orgasm.  Her whole body shook, and she would have fallen if Simon hadn’t put an arm around her and caught her.  He held her up, even as his other hand continued milking her.

When he had squirted the last milk from her tits, he leaned in and kissed her on the lips.  And Yvette, to her immense shame, let him.

He laughed when the kiss was over.  “Good cow,” he said.  “Now, let’s get you the machine.”

He sat her trembling body down on a chair, and then brought over a device.  It was a little larger than her previous one, and Yvette saw she would need a trolley to get it to her car.  The words “HUMAN COW MILKING DEVICE” were written on it in large letters, and this one was decorated, as the last, with a photo of Simon, but also a photo of an exposed, erect dick.

“Is that…” she asked.   

“Yes,” said Simon, sounding rueful.  “That’s my cock.  The last woman who used this asked for it.  It seemed to comfort her.  I trust you’ll forgive it.  Now, this machine is a bit more intense than the last one.  Can you handle that?”

Yvette tried to picture a milking that was even more painful than what she had experienced so far.   She hated that the idea made her cunt wet again.

“Yes, I think so,” she said.

“And this one has a peculiarity,” he said.  “It’s, uh, designed for actual cows.  So to get it to work you have to – well, you have to moo.  At least once every minute, to keep it going.  Can you do that?  Make a noise like a cow?”

She blushed and was silent.   This was humiliation – and she had no doubt that it was deliberate humiliation.  She suspected Simon had deliberately built the device that way.

“Yvette?” he said.   “Can you moo?  Show me.  Give me a little moo.”

“Moo,” she said.

Nothing happened.

“You can’t just *say* moo,” he said.  “Come on, loud and deep, like a cow.  You’ve heard it.  You only need to get *reasonably* close for it to work.”

“Mooooo,” she said, trying now to sound like a cow.

And with a rattling thump, the pump switched on.

“There you go,” he said.   “Just keep mooing as you’re being milked and it will keep pumping you.  Okay?”

It wasn’t.  But she was going to let it happen.

“Oh, and let’s personalise it,” Simon said.  He took a picture of her – large tits exposed – on his phone – and then printed it on a nearby printer, on sticker paper.  He peeled the sticker off and stuck it to the machine, on the opposite side to the image of his cock.

“Now there’s no doubt who this machine is for,” he said, smiling.

===

Yvette blushed the whole time as she wheeled the milking machine through the corridors of the Linguistics Team to her office.  She was sure that at any moment someone would see it, and see the picture of her tits on the side, and realise exactly what the device was for.  

But she saw no one, and got it to her office safely.

She worked for a while at her computer, but then her mind drifted off.  About an hour later she became aware that her tits were aching, and she unbuttoned her blouse and removed her bra to prepare for milking.

It was only then that she realised what she had been browsing on her computer.

Baby clothes.   Cribs.  Baby toys.  Lists of baby names.

She felt like crying.   Simon couldn’t be right.  He just *couldn’t* be.  She refused to believe that there was a gene in the female body that, when stimulated, turned her into a baby-crazy breeding machine.

And yet…

She closed all her browser tabs and applied the machine to her tits.  These cups were larger, and harder.

“Mooooo,” she said, quietly, and the machine switched on.

And God, it hurt!  It hurt far more than the other one.  She felt like her whole tit was being yanked off her chest and into the cup.  She watched her titflesh distend to fill the cup, her nipple lengthening absurdly, even as thick white milk began to spurt from her nipple.

She wanted to scream from the agony in her tits – and yet, at the same time, it felt good, in exactly the way she had trained herself to enjoy it.  Her hand went desperately to her pussy and she began to masturbate.  

“Moooo,” she said, to keep the machine pumping.

On one screen of her computer she brought up the video of Simon raping the lesbian, and on the other the photo of the lesbian’s naked pregnant body.  

“Mooo,” she said again.

She stared at the woman’s swollen tits.  Yvette’s were already that size.  By the time she was nine months pregnant they would be even bigger, and full of milk.   She would need twins to drink that much milk.  Oh, God – twins.  How sexy would she look with her belly blown up with twins.  A beautiful baby girl sucking on each tit, even as Yvette herself sucked on their father’s cock.

“Moooo,” she sighed.

She looked down at the photo of Simon’s cock on the machine, and imagined what it would feel like in her mouth – or in her cunt…  It had felt so good being milked by him, just being used as the cow she was…

She gasped, and tried to purge her thoughts of the traitorous images.  How could she think these things?  Was she nothing but a bimbo?

She tried to discipline herself the only way she could think of – by slapping her cunt, hard.  And it hurt, badly – but the pain just made her cum.   She cried as she orgasmed with the thought of fucking Simon in her head.

“Moooo,” she wailed.  

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You can read the entirety of “The Ticking of the Clock” in my e-book The Milk Industry, available now for only $4.99 USD at AllTheseRoadworks.com!  Plus your purchase helps keep the lights on so I can keep writing! (Click here to view in store.)

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