===
Yvette called Simon on the phone Wednesday night.
“Hello, Yvette,” he said when he picked up. “Clearly you want something from me, so I’m going to take the liberty of calling you a cunt while we speak. If you don’t want to be called a cunt, you can hang up.”
Yvette was silent.
“Good girl,” said Simon. “What do you want, cunt?”
“This isn’t fair,” said Yvette. “This is like mind control. It’s putting ideas into my head… thought I’d never think…”
“Are you thinking about babies, cunt?” he asked her. “Are you wanting to take a load of cum up your pussy, and put a baby in your womb? You know it’s not mind control, cunt. These are ideas that were inside you all along, and the serum is just setting them free. You’re becoming the real you – the good little breeder that all women secretly want to be.”
Yvette was silent again.
“You’re a stupid little cunt who should never have made this bet, aren’t you, cunt?” said Simon.
Yvette hung up. Partly because if she had stayed on the phone any longer, she would have heard herself whispering “yes”.
But mostly because she had been masturbating throughout the entire call, as the milking machine sucked on her oversized tits and she stared at the photo of Simon’s cock that was pasted to the machine’s side. And when Simon had called her a stupid little cunt, she had orgasmed.
===
Thursday morning, Yvette’s car broke down. It simply wouldn’t start. She called a mechanic but they said the earliest they could have someone come out to look at it would be the weekend.
She thought about a taxi or an Uber, but working on a PhD in linguistics didn’t exactly make her rich, and so she resolved to take public transport.
It left her with a dilemma. The milking machine was too heavy to carry in a bag. She would need to bring it on its little trolley, which would be awkward. She considered leaving it at home. Maybe she could milk her own tits… with her hands. But when she thought about the delicious agony the machine inflicted on her udders, her pussy got wet, and ultimately Yvette made the mistake of thinking with her cunt instead of her head, and she decided to bring the device with her.
She regretted it almost immediately when she found herself standing on a crowded train with the milking machine on its trolley next to her. The lettering “HUMAN COW MILKING DEVICE” now seemed very obvious to her. She had tried to cover the text with sticky tape and a piece of paper before leaving the house, but the paper had blown away almost immediately in the stiff autumn winds.
A man was looking at the device. He was looking at the image on the side which showed Yvette with her large tits exposed. Then he was looking at Yvette – staring at her chest.
She could almost imagine the thought in his head – an image of her, labelled with the words “HUMAN COW”.
She pictured him assaulting her – fucking her – putting a baby inside her.
God, she wanted to masturbate.
Somewhere out of Yvette’s sight, further down the train, a baby began to cry. Immediately, Yvette felt her tits throb, and her pussy squeeze. She opened her mouth and made a slutty sigh.
As the baby continued to cry, more people began to look at Yvette. At first she didn’t understand why – and then she felt the wetness trickling over her stomach.
Her boobs were leaking milk. They were responding to the sound of a hungry baby. And not just a little milk, either – a constant dribble. Yvette had made the mistake of wearing the half-cup bra instead of the padded one today. Already the front of her blouse was soaked with milk – and it was turning transparent, revealing the clear outline of her nipples. And milk was continuing to run down from her tits and over her belly, dribbling into her panties and beginning to soak them.
Yvette’s face turned bright red, and she clapped her hands over her tits to hide them.
Which was a mistake. Even that slight pressure on her boobs caused them to squirt milk, hard enough that some of it visibly fountained through the front of her blouse. And the brief feeling of being forcefully milked made her pussy suddenly soaking wet. She involuntarily clenched her thighs together and did her best not to orgasm in public.
Everyone was looking from the machine, to her tits, and back to the machine.
HUMAN COW.
“Perhaps you’d better use your cow-milker, ma’am,” said one young man as he stared at her. His friend, beside him, snickered, and said, “Moooo!”
At the sound of the moo, the milker stuttered into brief, noisy life, before subsiding again.
Almost everyone in the train car made the connection. Yvette mooed at her milking machine to make it work.
She wanted to die of embarrassment.
The baby kept crying. Her tits ached. She pictured lips on her nipples, sucking on them, drawing the milk from her swollen udders…
Unable to help herself, her hands encircled her breasts… and squeezed, hard.
It hurt. It felt so good. Her panties were soaked with milk. She was milking herself like a cow, in public. She would leave a puddle on the seat when she stood up.
Someone had their phone out, and was filming her.
Crying with shame and humiliation, she orgasmed.
===
Almost as soon as she got to work, Yvette admitted to herself that she wasn’t going to get any work done. She locked the door of her office and stripped out of her milk-soaked bra and panties, and sat in her chair with the milking machine on her tits, and mooed softly as she masturbated.
At first she was looking at baby clothes and baby cribs. Then she went to maternity clothes – not because she wanted to see the clothes, but because she wanted to see the smooth, round bellies of heavily pregnant women. They looked so good. They looked so *right*.
Occasionally she stopped and responded to an email from a co-worker. Yes, she was fine. No, she wasn’t very productive today. Maybe she was sick. Maybe she’d take the rest of the week off work.
It would be good practice, she thought, for when she was on maternity leave. She wouldn’t be able to work then – not while she was breastfeeding a newborn. And anyway, she’d just get pregnant again after that – it was silly to think that she’d ever finish her PhD, really…
She tried to shake those thoughts from her head. They were traitorous. She wasn’t going to get pregnant. She wasn’t going to fuck a man. She was going to get through what was, admittedly, a very difficult struggle for her bodily autonomy, and then everything was going to be normal again. Except that her team would have nice new facilities in Simon’s old building, once they cleared out the horrible misogynistic posters.
She thought of those posters again. A naked woman chained up in a barn with milking cups on her udders. USEFUL WOMAN. She rubbed her cunt and mooed.
She went back to the university’s archive of Simon’s research. She read his papers on how women were inherently stupider than men. She read about her gender’s deficits in logic, mathematics, spatial awareness. She read how women got stupider when they were horny. She read about similarities he’d found between the brains of women and the brains of cows.
And she masturbated.
She searched for information on the intelligence of cows and found an article.
She stared at it for a few seconds. Her mind filled with memories of being humiliatingly milked by Simon. She remembered how he had called her “cunt”.
She downloaded it, and began to go through it, changing each instance of “cow” to “cunt”. She tried to pretend that it didn’t fit as a description of herself.
Yes, cunts are intelligent. It’s a question of how we define intelligence. A man might use intelligence to do maths, create science, and design complex systems.
But these are not things a cunt is required to do. We should instead speak of cunt intelligence in terms of those things that are important to the life of a cunt – feeding, seeking a mate, breeding, satisfying her owner, and expressing milk.
There are ways to read a cunt’s behaviour that allow us to understand what she is saying, even if she is not speaking intelligent language. For example, a cunt in heat will actively seek out mating, and will respond over time to discipline and training. A cunt with full udders will accept milking, even if the milking is painful or at the hands of a stranger.
Cunts can learn from another cunt’s mistakes. Social learning is when a cunt learns to do something by watching what another cunt does and seeing the consequences of their behaviour.
She was cumming again. Cumming from comparing herself to a cow. She couldn’t believe what a whore she was. Why couldn’t she control herself? She grabbed her tits and squeezed them as hard as she could, trying to hurt herself, but the pain just made her orgasm.
A message appeared on her phone. It was from Simon.
“How much milk are you producing now, cunt? Don’t throw it out. Bottle it. I will send a man to collect it from your doorstep each night.”
Yvette gave up on work. She sent a message that she was taking the rest of the week off sick, and changed back into her still-slightly-damp clothes, and went home with her milking machine.
There was – blessedly – no baby on the train on the way home, and fewer people overall given it was the middle of the day – but she was still leaking enough to soak her blouse again by the time she got home.
===
At home she did what she had wanted to do at work – Google pictures of pregnant women. She put the suction back on her tits, and stared at images of breastfeeding mothers, and then at lesbians breastfeeding each other. She wasn’t a lesbian herself but the idea of a beautiful pregnant woman suckling at her tit almost made her cum by itself.
She watched videos of men cumming in women’s unprotected pussies. She watched visibly pregnant women masturbating, giving blowjobs, getting cum all over their giant milky titties.
She watched videos of naked pregnant women being kept in barns, collared, shackled, their tits abused.
She orgasmed again and again.
In the evening she made up a list. If she *was* going to let a man fuck her (and impregnate her, her mind quietly added) who would it be? She listed off work colleagues, acquaintances, and even some less-closely-related family members, rating them on a balance of their attractiveness, their merits as a father, and how likely they were to treat her with respect.
She stared at the list and masturbated, picturing each one fucking her in turn, thinking about what it would like to receive their semen into her womb.
Then, at the bottom of the list, she wrote SIMON, and then orgasmed.
She was surprised to find that the milking machine had sucked nearly a litre of milk out of her tits today.
She looked online and found that a normal new mother was expected to produce an average around 0.65 of a litre per day, being the amount sufficient to feed an average baby. Experiments in estimating the *maximum* milk production of a woman who had just given birth reported daily production of 1.2 litres.
She felt perversely proud to be producing so much milk, She could support *twins* with that level of milk production. And it was still going up.
She drained the milk from the machine into a bottle and put it on her front doorstep. She never saw the man who collected it, but it was gone the next morning, and it had been replaced by three empty bottles of the same size.
And there was a package with the bottles.
===
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Several occurrences of “pregnant woman” instead of “pregnant women”, e.g. “naked pregnant woman being kept in barns”
Redundant use of “almost” in this line “tit almost made her cum almost by herself”.
I think “less people overall ” should be “fewer people”, but I know that this is something that gets used and abused casually all the time.
Thanks, fixed. The “pregnant woman” thing is weird – I wonder if I did a silly search-and-replace when I was writing it for some reason?
Following the rule of “words mean the thing that people use them to mean and understand them to mean”, “less” and “fewer” are largely interchangeable in modern English, regardless of what the distinction may have been in the past, but all the same it’s not a neologism I’d used deliberately so I’ve amended it to “fewer”.