Story: The Ticking of the Clock, Part 4

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She stared at the inside of the package and felt sick.  

She had already had her morning milking-and-masturbation, but her cunt was still wet, and her udders were already beginning to ache again.  She hadn’t bothered to put on clothes, and was quite naked.

The package contained five vials filled with milky-white liquid.

The note that accompanied them read:

“I thought you might be fantasising about sperm by now.  Here’s five vials of my best.  Reheat in the microwave for an authentic experience, which will also sterilise them and prevent pregnancy.  No need to tell me how you use them.  Best wishes, Simon.”

She was going to throw them out.  They were disgusting.  Simon was disgusting.  This was filth and it belonged in the bin.

She picked up two vials and took them to the microwave and put them in for twenty seconds.

When the microwave dinged she took them to the couch.  She lay back on the couch, connected the milking machine to her tits, and spread her legs.  She opened one of the vials and pushed the mouth of it into her fuckhole, so that she could upend it and feel Simon’s warm semen trickle down her cunt, into her womb.

Then she opened her mouth and eagerly poured the second vial onto her tongue.

Her brain switched off.   Only lust and the ticking of her biological clock remained.  There was a man’s sperm in her pussy.  It didn’t matter that it was sterile.  It was where the sperm belonged.  She pushed almost her whole fist into her cunt, frantically pushing the cum up inside her, so that it could impregnate her, even while she sucked happily on the salty taste of Simon’s jizz.

She orgasmed, but felt she could cum again.  She picked up her phone and rang Simon.

“Did you get my present, cunt?” he asked when he answered.

She made an incoherent sound, her mouth full of cum.

“Swallow,” he told her, and she did.

“Did you put my cum in your fuckhole, like the dumb horny bitch we both know you are?” asked Simon.

“It doesn’t count,” said Yvette.  “It only counts if I fuck a man.  This doesn’t count.”

“Do you want me to send you more cum, so that you can fuck it into your rapehole like a disgusting whore?” asked Simon.

Yvette was silent – still masturbating – but after a moment, she said, “Yes.”  And then, also quietly, “Moooo,” to keep the milking machine running.

“If I send you more cum, it all goes into your body,” said Simon.  “You don’t waste any.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Yvette.

“This is the real you, Yvette,” Simon whispered.  “This is always who you were.”

Yvette tried to hang up, but she was too slow.  And so Simon got to hear the whorish grunting moan she made as she orgasmed.

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She used the rest of the cum that afternoon – two vials in her cunt and one in her mouth.

She thought about asking one of the men on her lift if he would come around and fuck her, but she still had enough willpower to resist.  Instead the spent the whole day masturbating and being milked as she watched pregnancy and impregnation porn.

By the end of the day she had produced a full litre of milk.

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The next day there were not five vials of cum, but ten.  She poured one vial on her breakfast, and was surprised to find that it improved the taste.  An effect of her baby-crazy new physiology?  Possibly, but she liked it enough that she mixed another vial with her lunch, and two with her dinner.  

The other six went into her body – four into her cunt and two into her mouth as she masturbated.   And masturbating was all she did, all day long.  In the evening she called Simon again so that she could hear him degrade her as she orgasmed.

“It sounds like you’re ready to be hand-milked, cunt,” said Simon as Yvette masturbated to his voice.   “Do you want me to come and hand-milk you tomorrow?”

She moaned, and mooed, and he correctly took that as a yes.

“Leave your door unlocked overnight,” he told her.  “I’ll come early in the morning for your first milking.”

And that thought was enough to give her the orgasm she had been seeking.

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She woke to the feeling of her hands being bound.

Simon was in her room, and he was fitting gloves over her hands.  The gloves didn’t have fingers, and there was a stiff plastic piece across the palm. She couldn’t separate her fingers or curl her hand into a fist.

“Ssh,” said Simon as Yvette began making distressed noises.

He moved to her feet and strapped her into a pair of sandals.  The sandals had sharp spikes on the sole, and Yvette realised she wouldn’t be able to stand upright on them.

Next he put kneepads on her knees, and then a collar around her neck, which he attached a leash to.

“Come along, cunt,” he said.   “It’s time for your milking.”

Yvette was eager to be milked.  During the last couple of days she had been milked non-stop during the day.  Sleeping for eight hours without milking left her with excruciatingly swollen tits – they hurt so bad she was almost crying.  

She got out of bed, and immediately realised that the only way she could move was by crawling.   Simon walked ahead with the leash, and Yvette crawled along behind him.

She panicked a little when she realised Simon was leading her outside, into her backyard.

“Come along, cunt,” he said again. “Animals don’t get milked in the house.”  And he yanked on her leash, giving her no choice but to follow him.

In the back yard he had her climb up onto the garden table, on all fours. and then he tied her leash to one of the table legs.  It was cold, and Yvette was shivering.

She shivered much more once he grabbed the hose and turned it on her.  A blast of frigid water hit Yvette and she shrieked.

Her shrieks attracted the attention of her neighbours – Mr Henderson on one side, and the Babbage boys on the other – who came up to their respective fences at peered over them at the nude big-titted woman who was being hosed down.

“Just cleaning the cow,” said Simon cheerfully.  “You’re welcome to watch.”

None of the watching men seemed to object to Yvette’s treatment – even when Simon walked up to her and jammed the nozzle of the hose in her cunt briefly,  Yvette shrieked, and almost fell off the table, and Simon just laughed.

When he was done with the hose, he said, “Beg to be milked, cunt.”  He had a bucket which he placed under Yvette’s massive fuckbags.

“Please milk me, sir,” Yvette said, quietly.

“That’s not how a cow begs,” said Simon, and Yvette realised what he wanted.

“Mooo,” she said.  And then, when he didn’t respond, she tried again, louder.  “MOOOO.”

The Babbage boys laughed, and elbowed each other.

“Good cunt,” said Simon – and finally, blessedly, he began to milk her.

He made no effort to be gentle.  He grabbed on her tits and pulled them as if he were trying to yank them from her body.   And that was exactly the way Yvette liked it.  She found that she couldn’t help but moo with every pull – she had trained herself to do so with the machine.  

Yvette blushed, and mooed, and allowed Simon to brutalise her tits, and the worst bit was that she was grateful to him for relieving the pressure in her aching swollen tits.

No – that wasn’t the worst bit.  The worst bit was how wet it made her.  The more Simon tugged on her udders, the wetter her cunt got, and the harder it was to think clearly.

To her horror, she found herself wiggling her ass.  She didn’t want to *ask* Simon, but maybe if he noticed how wet she was… maybe he would… finger her?  Use a vibrator on her?

Except that wasn’t what she wanted.  She wanted him to fuck her.  She wanted him to stick his cock in her and fill her womb with sperm and make her pregnant.

She didn’t want to ask for it.  She didn’t want to.

But he wasn’t noticing her wiggles.

Her face grew redder and redder.

And then, finally, in a quiet voice, she said, “I give in.  Please… fuck me.”

And to her shock, Simon said, “No.”

“No?” she repeated, not understanding.

He smiled.  “I don’t want you to think that your loss was a momentary weakness, cunt,” he said.  “I want you to know it was inevitable.  That it was built into every fibre of your being.  And I think it will be helpful to your understanding of that when you find yourself begging me again tomorrow.”

Her face became red.   It was humiliating enough to ask to be fucked.  It was infinitely more humiliating to be turned down.

“Besides,” said Simon, “the most fertile part of your cycle isn’t for a few days yet, is it?”

===

He left Yvette with another twelve vials of sperm.  He explicitly told her it wasn’t all from him this time, although he gave no guidance on who it *was* from.

Yvette didn’t care.   She heated and sterilised it in the microwave, and spent the rest of the day pushing it up her fuckhole and dripping it into her mouth.  She even experimented with spreading one over her large milky tits, and that felt good too.

On Sunday Simon came back again, waking her in the morning and putting her back in the gloves and shoes.   He had her crawl into the backyard, where he hosed her down again, and then roughly milked her.

Yvette had told herself that she wasn’t going to beg to be fucked, but by the time Simon had squeezed half the milk from her fuckmelons she was no longer thinking clearly, and she heard herself begging Simon to rape her.

Once again, Simon turned her down on the offer to fuck her cunt.  But he *did* take out his cock and present it to her face, and Yvette went wild at the chance to suck on the dick she had been fantasising about for days.   She eagerly served Simon with her mouth, and when he ejaculated into her mouth, she was hit by a surprising hands-free orgasm.

Afterwards he served her “breakfast” – which was some kind of pet food, in a dog bowl, with a vial of semen poured over the top.  He made her eat it on all fours, in the back yard, without using her hands.

“It’s full of important vitamins,” he told her.  “It will promote your fertility and milk production.”

Yvette felt herself crying.   She was already producing so much milk.   Her tits were already so big.  But she ate it all, and was humiliated to feel a blush of pride when Simon told her she was a good girl for finishing all her feed.   He left her with the feed, and the observation that there was no nutritional reason that she couldn’t eat it for three meals a day.  But he didn’t tell her that she *had* to eat it.

He left her with fifteen vials of sperm when he left, and Yvette poured the first one on her face, and the second on her tits, and then made the rest vanish into her mouth or her cunt over the course of the day.

She poured the final vial over her dinner – which was a bowl of the feed that Simon had left, which she ate from the dog bowl.

Late in the day, a delivery arrived at Yvette’s door.  She almost moaned in despair when she discovered what it was – a baby crib, and a selection of baby bottles and pacifiers.  At first she thought Simon must have ordered it for her, but when she went back in her browser history she discovered that she had, in fact, ordered it herself, in a haze of baby-crazed arousal.

Her body knew what it wanted.

She built the crib in the room that had once been her home office.

On Monday, Simon came again.   He made her send an email to work calling in sick for the entire week before he put her in the shoes and gloves, and after that things proceeded as before.  He hosed her down.  He milked her.  She begged to be fucked, and he refused, but he fed her his cock and she sucked it.   Then he prepared her morning feed.

Except this time when he left he gave her no sperm – and he didn’t remove the shoes and gloves.  He refilled her dog bowl with feed and left the back door open, and set a loop of impregnation porn running on her TV, and set up her milking machine so she could lower her tits into it and moo in order to engage it, and then left her there.  She couldn’t stand up, only crawl, and she couldn’t manipulate anything with her hands.  She couldn’t even masturbate properly.

There was nothing she could do but crawl around, milk herself, and watch porn.  Her cunt got wetter and wetter, but with her gloved hands she found it impossible to give herself a proper orgasm.  

She fell asleep on the lounge room floor with the sounds of women being impregnated in her ears, and dreamed of breastfeeding a baby from one breast and Simon from the other.

===

On Tuesday morning, Yvette could feel her fertility like a weight.  Soon her body would prepare for her period, if she wasn’t pregnant.   Every part of her body ached for a man to knock her up.  She was so horny.  Her tits were a swollen agony.  

Simon’s arrival to milk her was a divine grace.  She looked up at him with worshipful eyes as he led her outside, and she thanked him for hosing her down and shoving the hose nozzle up her twat.  She mooed enthusiastically as he milked her.

And when she begged him to fuck her, he didn’t say no.

“Tell me I’m right,” he told her.  “Tell me I’m right about everything.”

“You’re right,” she gasped.   “Women are animals.  Women are stupid.  We’re just… just tits and a cunt.  That’s all I am.  I’m just a baby-maker.  I only exist so you can fuck me.  The only worth I have is in my fuckmelons and my womb.  I need you to decide things for me – decide if I deserve to be bred – control my body…”

That was enough for him.   He stood behind her and shoved his cock into her droolingly-wet pussy, and it was the best feeling Yvette had ever experienced.

She knew from the first thrust that this was the sex that would impregnate her.  She knew she was about to fall pregnant to a man she hated after betraying her ideals and her gender.  She knew this pregnancy would enslave her not only to a life of motherhood and breeding, but also make her Simon’s bitch, his test subject, his lab cow.

She didn’t care.  She fucked him with all her lust and enthusiasm, and when she felt him cum inside her she orgasmed, and orgasmed again, and again.

“It’s over,” she sighed when he pulled out.  “I’m having a baby.  And I guess I’m your… your test subject now.  But at least you can reverse the serum.  I just… I just want to be able to think again.”

He laughed.  “Oh, there is no cure for the serum, cunt,” he said.   “You’re going to be like this forever.   I suppose if you had somehow won the bet I would have been obliged to try and design a counteragent, but seeing as you didn’t… it’s much more interesting for our research to continue to document your transition from feminist to human cow and sex-crazed baby-maker.  So you may as well get used to the way you feel right now.”

She choked with horror, and almost stopped breathing.  Like this?   Forever?  Her brain fixed on nothing but being milked, fucked, and impregnated?

But luckily her brain didn’t matter anymore.  Only her tits and her cunt.  And when she heard what her fate was going to be, her tits throbbed with eagerness, and she felt herself orgasm again…

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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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