Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five
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Mr Star wanted to see Fiona in his office again.
Fiona didn’t want to go. She felt traumatised. Her body was shaking. Her tits had been abused, she’d been injected with a drug, and then she’d forced a female co-worker to give her oral sex and orgasmed from it. She wanted to go home and cry, and sleep, and wake up and find this had all been a horrible nightmare.
But Mr Star wanted to see her. She had no choice.
“Ah, Fuckbags,” he said as she walked in. “How are your udders feeling?”
“Strange, sir,” said Fiona. “Like… I’m very aware of them.”
“That’s your milk glands expanding,” said Mr Star. “You’ll experience some breast growth over coming weeks just from that, and then further growth as your milk comes in and your tits swell with it. Why don’t you show me how they’re doing?”
Fiona blushed, and unbuttoned her blouse and lifted her bra to show her boss her breasts.
“Excellent,” said Mr Star. “You know, Fuckbags, I was very pleased with how you handled Dumb Slut today. That showed real leadership. You obviously know what motivates a woman.”
Dumb Slut – Britney – had been motivated by fear of unemployment, and the threat of being raped in the street by hired thugs.
“Thank you, sir,” said Fiona.
“I think a further promotion is in order,” said Mr Star. “Every herd needs a leader. Your new job title will be ‘Head Cow’. It comes with a small raise. How does that sound?”
A raise sounded very good. If she was going to be humiliated at work, she could at least be paid for it. She didn’t like being called ‘Head Cow’ but it could hardly be worse than ‘Giant Fuckbags’.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “That’s very generous.”
Mr Star waved his hand, dismissing her praise.
“Your duties will be to produce milk, to look pretty, to keep the other cows in line, and to provide advice on how to best maximise their obedience and milk production,” said Mr Star. “Plus such other tasks as I set you from time to time. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir,” said Fiona. She felt guilty, agreeing to “keep the other cows in line”, but it was better that she be given such a task than someone else – a man, for example.
“Very good,” said Mr Star. “Produce some new business cards for yourself with that title. Ensure they show your face and your assets. See that you update your LinkedIn and suchlike with your new title and duties.”
“My… assets, sir?” asked Fiona, uncertainly.
He looked at her. “Really, Fuckbags, I thought the other girl was supposed to be the dumb one. Surely you haven’t forgotten what your only worthwhile qualities are?”
Her tits.
“No, sir,” she said.
“Very good,” said Mr Star. “And after you’ve arranged that, I think you should procure new work uniforms for our cows. I want to make it very clear that they’re cows, and the uniforms will need to aerate the cows’ udders while they’re in the office.”
“Yes, sir,” said Fiona, and left her boss’ office.
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She took a photo of herself topless in the bathrooms. She couldn’t believe she was really going to ask a printing company – filled with people, many of them men, who she had never met – to print hundreds of copies of a photo of her tits. But she knew that she would do it. The promised payrise at least made it a little easier.
She designed the business cards on her computer.
GIANT FUCKBAGS
aka Fiona Cornish
HEAD COW, STAR INDUSTRIES
giant_fuckbags [at] t-star-corp.com
The mobile number that appeared on the card was her personal mobile. She didn’t have a work-provided phone number.
And, of course, the photo of her cupping her tits and smiling brainlessly.
Who would she be expected to hand these cards to? Who would see them? Only employees at Star Industries? People in other companies?
She trembled at the thought. But she had already evidently impressed Mr Star to some degree, and a payrise was far from a degradation – it was a reward. Perhaps by further service, she might win free from this humiliation. She certainly would not through disobedience.
She sent the card to the printer.
Next she set about dealing with the uniform.
She wasn’t a fashion designer and had no experience in designing clothes, so she searched online for companies that would create custom work uniforms.
She almost dismissed the first company she found – Avilrod Workwear – because the first three online reviews were negative, speaking of the owner’s blatant misogyny. Ordinarily that would have been enough for Fiona to move on and never look back – but she paused, and, after a brief internal debate, she rang the company’s number.
As she had expected, the company’s owner, Brennan Avilrod was a pig. He addressed her on the phone as “honey” and “sweet-tits”, and made her repeat everything she said as if he thought she might be fundamentally confused about basic things like why she was calling him and what she wanted.
But when he learned she wanted to make work uniforms for “human cows”, he became intensely interested. He asked her a great many questions about who these cows were and how they had been convinced to “accept their natural role”, most of which Fiona declined to answer, partly out of concern for her co-worker’s privacy, but mostly because she felt that was proprietary information of Mr Star that he would not want her to share.
In the end, Avilrod accepted the contract to produce the uniforms. He said he would have the first batch ready within a week, and more could come if Fiona were to “find more cows”. He even offered a ridiculous cheap rate on the uniforms – he was clearly invested in producing these clothes out of his own personal interest at this point. The only requirement to secure the cheap rate was that Fiona send him pictures of the cows in their new uniforms, to which Fiona agreed.
At the end, when she had to provide her email address for further correspondence, Avilrod laughed out loud, and from that point he would only refer to her as “Fuckbags”.
===
For the next week, Fiona’s life revolved around tits.
In the mornings, she would come into work, enter the injecting room, strip naked, and strap herself into the awful, hateful machine. She would suck on the cock dildo, and buck her body against the cunt dildo, and when she reached orgasm the machine would stab her tits with a syringe, injecting them with the agonising acidic drug, and she would scream into her cock-gag as pain and orgasm mingled in her brain.
The other cows sometimes required encouragement to submit to this process. On the second day, April – Daisy Cowtits – was clearly rethinking wisdom of fucking a machine and letting it stab her tits in order to turn her into a lactating cow.
“You know Mr Star films all this,” Fiona told Daisy, not knowing whether it was true or not. “You know he has footage of you stripping nude and fucking the machine yesterday. What would your friends think if they saw that footage? What would your father think? Would they ever look at you the same way again?”
And so, crying, April strapped herself into the machine for another round of degradation. Fiona watched her as she humped the machine, and then screamed from the injection, and she briefly wondered if there was a way she could force Daisy Cowtits to lick her pussy, as she had done with “Dumb Slut” Britney.
During the day, she would take her turns sucking milk from Sweetmelons’ udders. Sweetmelons’ milk production was continuing to increase, and her tits were swelling in size accordingly. Fiona marvelled at how large and heavy the woman’s boobs felt in her hands as she lifted them to take the nipple into her mouth.
She was becoming quite used to treating Sweetmelons like an object, grabbing her tits on her own schedule, without consent, and not caring for Sweetmelons’ comfort as she squeezed them and sucked on them. In fact, she quite liked squeezing harder than was necessary, or biting the nipple a little bit, and hearing Sweetmelons’ squeals drowned out by cow-like mooing sounds from her de-barking collar.
The more pathetic and helpless Sweetmelons became, and the larger her tits grew, the easier and more enjoyable it became to be cruel to her.
Over the weekend, Fiona was mostly allowed a break from the humiliation of the office – but Mr Star made it clear that the girls were to nevertheless attend the office in the mornings for their injections, although they could go home afterwards.
Fiona spaced out at home, and watched TV, and massaged her breasts, which were becoming increasingly sensitive, and tried not to think about her increasingly humiliating life as “Giant Fuckbags, Head Cow”.
On Monday morning, her new business cards were waiting for her. Mr Star made her walk around the building and give one to each of her co-workers, and told her he expected her to send one to anyone outside the company that she was doing business with. Currently that was only Mr Avilrod. Fiona hated to show the sexist pig her tits, but an order was an order.
There was another surprise for Fiona in the afternoon. She was busy typing a stationery order for Mr Star, when she felt a sense of wetness on her chest. She looked down to see two damp circles on her blouse, one over each nipple.
She was lactating. It was milk. She was leaking.
She freaked out. She knew she should tell Mr Star. But she looked over at Sweetmelons, who was mooing, and wiggling with mixed pleasure and arousal as Samantha Faulds – “Strawberry Cream” – sucked on one of her udders and pretty young Darci Griffin squeezed the other.
That could be her. That was what Mr Star wanted from her.
So instead she ran into the women’s bathroom, pulled out her tits, and began squeezing them, aiming her nipples at the sink.
Very little milk came out before they were dry. But Fiona knew it was just the beginning. Soon Mr Star would know. And then – she didn’t know what would happen next. But it scared her.
===
On Tuesday, the new uniforms arrived. Fiona gathered all the cows – including Sweetmelons – into the injection room, and had them change into their new clothes.
The tops were loose sleeveless blouses with a black and white cowprint pattern. They buttoned from the neck to the waist. There was a hole in the blouses at the bust, through which the cows’ tits could hang out to “aerate”, but they also came with an elastic cowprint band that could be worn across the bust area to cover the breasts in public. The band was very tight, and compressed the women’s large breasts lewdly – it may have covered the nipples, but it certainly didn’t allow them to blend in in public. If anything, it only called attention to them.
Pictures showed that in the “aeration” mode, the elastic band was intended to be wrapped in a figure-eight pattern around the base of the cows’ tits, causing the tits to bulge.
There was a short black pleated skirt, which Fiona was relieved to discover was of a decent length. There were ridiculous seven-inch black high heels, which Fiona could barely stand in. There was a cute little cow-ear headband for each girl. And there were panties.
“Ow!” said Dumb Slut, when she tried her panties on. “What the fuck?”
Fiona looked at her own. There were things sewn into the inside of the panties – a plastic inset with small rubbery spikes in the crotch, and a solid rubber protrusion in the rear.
When she tried them on, it became clear what the effect of the insets was. The spikes rested directly against her clitoris – not damaging it, but creating a constant level of irritation and pain. And the protrusion in the rear was aligned with her butthole. When she sat down, it forced its way into her anus – not enough to truly penetrate, but just enough to push her sphincter open.
She rang Avilrod to complain.
“Calm your cunt, Fuckbags,” said Avilrod. “You should be thanking me. Those enhanced panties are free of charge. Do you think cows like you deserve comfort? No, of course you don’t. You know that. Say thank you for torturing your clit and penetrating your ass like you deserve.”
Fiona was silent for a long minute. She ran through the possibility of telling him to go fuck himself. What would be the consequences? A higher bill for the uniforms, probably. Abuse from Avilrod. And Mr Star almost certainly wouldn’t taken her side. He would like these humiliating uniforms. He would wonder why his Head Cow was resisting them.
“Thank you, sir, for torturing my clit and penetrating my ass like I deserve,” Fiona said quietly.
“Good girl,” said Avilrod. “Now be sure to send me photos, hear?”
And so Fiona took a seat at her desk, with her bound tits exposed to view, with pain in her clitoris and a phallus pushing into her ass, and accepted that this was normal for her now. And she looked around the office to see the other girls she had betrayed wearing the same costume. It was obvious who the cows were.
Mr Star was, at least, nice to his Head Cow. He let her stay at her desk for the rest of the day – and it was only on Wednesday, after she had time to get used to it, that he sent her around the building to show her new uniform to the other workers.
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