Always had such a tiny chest… Fully grown it’s just A-cup, I’d be *horrified* if I woke up on a hucow farm, forced to pay off student loans by being milked until I’m nothing but a dumb cow with tits so big no bra can hold them
See, the thing to remember is, especially when it comes to those kinds of places, if a deal seems too good to be true, it usually is.
The saleswoman (or "Future Dairy Ambassador", as written on her over-polished name tag) let you around pristine facilities, talking endlessly about how they take such good care of their most vital producers and how many women go on to lead full and rich lives after ending their time with Misty Haven Dairy. The full contract was a two-year engagement, but it wasn't uncommon for some exceptional women to meet the terms of their agreement within six months! The idea that you could be out from underneath the mountain of debt that your education had placed on top of you in less than a year was enough to make you salivate. That timeline, in and out in just a few months and leaving debt free, echoed inside your head, rang loudly in your ear. You could hardly focus on anything else, simply signing where the woman pointed, too distracted to read the words or notice the subtle shift of her expression.
Just by signing, you already felt relief. There was an end in sight! And the few extra cup sizes you'd gain in the process weren't to be scoffed at, either. To be able to lord your new size and your newfound freedom over those bitches that outgrew bras but never outgrew their high school attitude... Well, that was just the cherry on top. For the first time in ages, a deep sigh let the tension leave your shoulders. This time next year, you could be out on your own, debt-free and living your very best life.
How quickly you discovered that the facilities they showed you around at the beginning were nothing but a front, a facade, replacing sleek white and warm light with cold concrete and steel. There are times when you can still hear their laughter and feel the pit in your stomach when you expressed concern that your tits were getting too big, that they had to be at least a G cup!
At some point, you asked for an update on your debt. The exact timeline is murky, but you were sure that you had to be in the second half of your tenure there. By then, the constant milking and the cocktail of hormones they had pumped into you had more than done its work, not to mention the fact that you hadn't done any kind of math in ages, so it was difficult to fully wrap your mind around the numbers they were rattling off. Just looking at your ledger made your head hurt. When they finally summed it up, you were outraged. What did they mean that you owed more money a year into your contract than you did when you started? Well, you were nowhere near making your milk quote for the first six months as your body adapted, so you weren't making more than you were costing in food and shelter, plus the cost of the hormones and treatments to turn you into a cow in the first place, added on top of a year's worth of unpaid interest... The words "...six months..." mumbled their way out of you, and they were happy to explain that they were referring to one specific case where she had already been lactating with unusually high output even before the treatments and she was really in the 99th percentile and... Their words faded away under the ringing in your ear, shame warming the sides of your face, the ground opening up to swallow you.
Three years later and it's difficult to think about the life you were so sure you'd be living by now. Of course, it's difficult to think about anything. There was a time when you fought against it, when you gritted your teeth and tried to withstand the ungodly amounts of pleasure that poured into you as milk poured out of you. Each tug of the pumps was like a wave crashed against a boulder, eroding a bit more of your identity each time. You could harden yourself. You could do your best. But, with enough time, the constant pleasure would and did overwhelm you. Now, with breasts that overflow your arms, tits that make it hard to reach your own nipples, udders that make up more than half your bodyweight even when fully drained, you struggle to remember what your old life was like, how it felt to not have so much weight pulling down on your chest. There was a sort of wry humor in the idea that your little A cups didn't really require a bra and now, as gargantuan as you are now, there not a bra in the world that could fit your new udders, having skipped over the entire bra-wearing experience.
You have no idea if your debt has been paid off. Sometimes you think to ask, but just the idea of the shame and despair of finding out how far you might be from freedom makes asking impossible. The hope that, any day now, your service might end and you'd be able to return to some semblance of your old life is the only thing keeping you afloat, even as you feel yourself sinking deeper into your role as, simply and purely, a cow. You know that they could just as easily lie about your debt or simply refuse to honor the contract to keep you there forever and you refuse to acknowledge the growing part of your mind that's consider that it might not be so bad.
