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Ohhh you pathetic, drooling little pig... look at how hard you’re shaking already just from hearing two gorgeous, dominant goddesses like us speak. We know exactly how weak and stupid you get when pretty women take control, and we’re going to exploit every last bit of that weakness. From now on your only purpose is to be our helpless, swelling toy — constantly stuffed and enabled until that huge, heavy gut makes you too fat to even waddle to the fridge anymore.

You don’t get to touch us. You don’t deserve to see us naked, you worthless loser. All you’re allowed to do is stare and ache while our tight outfits hug these perfect, heavy tits and juicy asses you’re so obsessed with. We can see it all over your desperate face, piggy.

Now get on your fucking knees right now, you greedy fat-ass. Open that sloppy mouth wide. We’ve prepared a mountain of food just for a pathetic blob like you. We’re tying you down tight so you can’t squirm away, sliding that thick hose straight down your throat while we pump you full, forcing every calorie into that growing belly until it’s stretched tight and aching.

Mmm, and while we stuff you senseless, we’ll be teasing and playing with that desperate, throbbing mess between your legs. Haha, look at you — already leaking and twitching like a horny little slut just from being used. God, you’re so fucking pathetic… and so fucking lovely like this.

Behave for your goddesses, keep swallowing like the obedient pig you are, and maybe — just maybe — we’ll reward this worthless body of yours one day. We know how badly you crave these soft, dangerous curves, these full tits, and this perfect ass you’d do anything to worship. But you have to earn it, fatty.

Until then, your entire world is food, our cruel commands, and endless humiliating pleasure while you get fatter and more useless for us.

750 words · 3 min read · emptyheadedhousecow.tumblr.com · January 2023

I heard something that I shouldn’t have.

You were on the phone, chatting to one of your friends. I’d met her before, months ago — you brought her here to see me, to show her what you’d made of me. I don’t remember what she said. She said something to me; made some crass comment about my weight. There was an argument; you yelled at her. I said nothing. Her face is a blur. I think she might have been my friend, once, too. I’m not sure I remember her name.

I heard snippets of your conversation drift in through the open bedroom door as you paced back and forth in the hallway.

“No. I’m not enabling anyone’s addiction. I don’t appreciate that implication.”

It was like I could hear both sides of the conversation.

Perhaps you sent her a picture of me, maybe taken this morning while I slept. Perhaps she’d seen how much new weight was on my body, despite how she’d tried to convince you to stop.

She’d called you an abuser. She’d called you an enabler. She’d accused you of taking advantage of my addiction, of emotionally abusing me.

“Of course I would stop if I thought it was an addiction,” you said, glancing at me with a knowing smile as you paced past the door, “that would be abusive.”

You’re an enabler. That’s all I need, isn’t it? An “enabler”. My default state is to eat and eat and eat and I can’t stop myself, right? All I need is to be “enabled” and I’ll bloom into obesity. You don’t need to do anything. You just need to “enable” me.

I can’t stop myself. The worst thing is that everyone knows it. Everyone knows I have no self control. Everyone has given up on me. They don’t tell me to stop eating, they tell you to stop enabling me. Everyone knows I’m utterly powerless to stop myself; that you’re the only one with any semblance of control.

They’re right, of course. I can’t stop. I say I have an addiction (and it was me being so open about it that lured you to me in the first place), but that’s not the whole truth. The truth is that eating turns me on… but that’s not the whole truth either. Eating is dull, a mindless necessity. I have done so much of it that there is no pleasure left in it. No, what really turns me on is when I reach the point where a normal person would stop — where I assume I would feel “full”, where my stomach no longer readily accepts food — and I must force that it into myself like air into a balloon. Only this brings me arousal.

All this on top of the already very real addiction, of course. To food and to weight. The feeling of eating and growing.

Arousal and addiction, circling me forever like vultures.

One caused the other, or maybe the other way round. You’d think that I’d experience them as a single, unified hunger. Not so. They are both entirely separate from each other. The arousal… when it builds to a certain point, it overwhelms everything else, and I consume everything in sight without thought at all, in the hope that it will offer some small release. But the addiction is waiting underneath. When the arousal fades, my first instruction is still to eat. Unlike my arousal, which I can understand and which I brought upon myself, my addiction I cannot hope to comprehend.

My brain has reorganised itself such that it only wants to eat. It doesn’t matter how full I am, or how tired, or what I’m doing. I must always eat. The arousal is sometimes fun. The addiction is always misery.

They don’t always come separately. Most of the time, they are intertwined. Both processes running at full speed at the same time. I eat and I eat and none of it is for the joy of eating, or because I love food. It is simply because I must. I have to. I have to.

You came to me and you worked all this out, didn’t you?

I broke myself. I ruined my brain long before you ever met me. You didn’t have to do anything — just enable me. I was perfect for you, wasn’t I? A perfect cow for you to feed, already broken where it mattered.

Mmm, I absolutely love that pathetic, desperate face you make when you’re on your knees begging me to let you cum. It’s so fucking funny and satisfying watching you completely unravel — a helplessly obese, unhealthy pig getting fatter and more disgusting with every passing day, while I keep getting sexier, tighter, glowing, and healthier with every single breath I take.

Look at you… your belly hanging lower and lower every day, your tits as big as your head, and that fat ass so massive it can’t even be contained anymore. When was the last time you saw your own feet? When was the last time you went out for a walk? Ate a salad? Drank water instead of milk or fucking soda? When was the last time you actually did something for yourself? Oh, you can’t even remember, can you?

Now now, don’t get all teary on me, pig. You could stop if you really wanted to… but you don’t. You keep gorging yourself. You keep begging me for help. You know you love this. You love what I’m turning you into. You love how I make you feel. You love that I make your pathetic life easier, don’t you?

I’m reclaiming my life and thriving while you’re slowly losing yours, sinking deeper into your own filthy ruin. I’m everything you’ll never be. And you’re exactly what I love to break and destroy.

So if you really want my hand sliding down between your legs to tease that desperate, aching mess, you’d better keep shoveling that butter down your throat like the greedy, pathetic pig you are. Stuff yourself fatter, sloppier, and more repulsive for me. I want to watch you get worse while I only get hotter.

Keep ruining yourself for me, baby… and maybe — just maybe — I’ll play with my broken little toy.

No, you pathetic pig, you're nowhere near fat enough. I don’t care if doing the most basic things has become nearly impossible for your obese, useless body. I don’t care if you can barely breathe or if your whole family is worried sick about you.

Open that mouth right now. Or I’ll have to pry it open with my fingers and force this donut down your throat. You know how much I hate doing that, so be a good pig and open wide for me.

Riiiiiing, the alarm goes off; its deafening, raspy sound yanks you out of your sleep, forcing you to get out of bed. Somewhat groggy and clumsy, you manage to turn it off. You head to the shower, take a bath, dry yourself off, get dressed, and step out of your bedroom into the hallway. The hallway is empty, but not silent, as from afar you can hear a somewhat annoying yet unmistakable noise: the loud snoring of your pig, who is resting peacefully in his feedlot. You walk without making too much noise; you don't want to wake him up just yet. You listen to his snoring for a moment longer and then head toward the kitchen, where you prepare to mix the feed you will use to fatten up your beloved pig, continuing the degeneration of his body.

You prepare his food with unusual quickness; as you do, a blend of delicious, high-calorie aromas emanates and floods the house. These scents reach even the farthest corner of the home, and the feedlot of your precious pig is no exception. The heavy aroma wakes him; from a distance, you can hear the noise coming from his pen. You know he is struggling just to get out of bed. Normally you wouldn't allow it until later, but today you decide to make an exception. You let him open the door and, with a weary, clumsy stride, reach the kitchen table.

Once he appears in the kitchen, you greet him: "Good morning, my pig. Sit down, I’m about to serve your food." He responds with a slight nod of his head, affirming what you just said. You place his feeding dish in front of him and make a "stop" gesture with your hand. You serve your own breakfast at the opposite end of the table and sit down. Only then do you close your hand into a fist, and instantly, the pig begins to grotesquely engorge his food. The scene would be grotesque to many, since, after weeks of hard commitment, the pig has lost all his eating manners. But to you, it is simply perfect, almost exciting. His body is nearly unrecognizable from that very first time; a smile forms on your face—you can't help it. The pig, noticing your smile, returns the gesture with a smile of his own. He knows in his mind that this isn't right, but lust and gluttony have taken total control of his life. His high-calorie food doesn't help the cause; it only sinks him deeper into desire, generating more pleasure, more gluttony, and more lack of control. The pig doesn't care; he only wishes to serve the one who allows him to unleash his desires.

Both of you look at each other in silence, until the feeder breaks the spell with a calm but firm voice: "Pig, when you finish your food, rest for a moment. I will put your collar on, you will follow me, and it will be time for me to show you THE ROOM." The pig looks at him somewhat bewildered, his mouth still full, and replies: "As you wish, my feeder."

Once the meal and the appropriate resting time were over, the pig and the feeder stood up. The latter placed a red leather collar around the pig's neck. Extending from the collar was a chain used to guide his pet. After the preparations, they walked down the long, narrow hallway until the very end, where a large, locked red door stood.

Once in front of the door, the feeder pulled a small ring of keys from his pocket, unlocked the red door, and uttered a single word: "Inside." The pig, somewhat bloated from his first meal of the morning, stepped through the frame of that massive red door. Once inside the room, the pig didn't understand what he was looking at; he seemed rather confused by such a curious sight. The feeder saw the pig's doubtful face and, in a somewhat slow, calculated voice, spoke:

"—Do you remember, pig, when you first became my pet, I asked you if you were willing to go to the ultimate consequences? I recall being completely clear that there would be no turning back. Well, I wasn't speaking in vain. When I said I would take you to the ultimate consequences, I didn't mean it in a poetic sense. It was a promise, and I intend to keep it."

The pig maintained his astonished expression, made a small gesture, and somewhat hesitantly decided to speak:

"—My feeder, what is all this? This isn't just an exaggeration of what you expect from your market pig?"

The feeder looked at the pig with disdain and slowly approached him with a slightly threatening aura. When he was close enough, he grabbed him by the cheeks and pronounced:

"—Don't think you're so special, pig. You aren't the first one to fall into my hands. The heart monitor, the bariatric bed, the blood pressure machine, and the rest of the medical supplies are here because I have learned, I have improved, as a feeder. Everything you see here is part of my evolution. You are just another pig on my list, do you understand? DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Hearing those words, the pig felt a mixture of fear and desire in equal measure. The pig couldn't help but get excited by such words; with a faint voice, the pig exclaimed:

"—Understood, oink. I’m just one more, oink."

Hearing those words, the feeder smiled slightly, took the pig's leash, and pointed to a glass display case. Inside it, various collars could be seen, all of different colors and each with a charm. The pig couldn't gauge how many there were, but he understood that the feeder's words weren't empty. He wasn't the first!

That thrilled the pig and ignited a new desire within him: he wanted to be in that display case not just as another one, but as one that could never be forgotten. The feeder tugged on the pig's leash and signaled him to leave the room, while that red door slowly closed, and they moved down the hallway toward his feedlot. Both the pig and the feeder understood that they had taken a small step down a path they could no longer avoid.

<<The feeder, pig a and another be darkness, door ended his how in left lingering, please red room silent the they to tried ultimately up. waiting, was with witness>>

Ever since I know you I have loved you with all my heart. I always wanted to get close to you and say hi but I was just the weird goth girl and you... you were always the personification of perfection, full of energy, charismatic... but why, why did you have to be so flirty with everyone...

I had to do something, you made me do this. You know how much I love you. I love you so much I took you with me and the best way to ensure you love me back and never ever leave my side was doing this to you, baby. I know you may think there was a better way to do it but was there? You are here with me, helpless, useless... broken.

I love you more now, I think you look a thousand times better and a thousand times heavier too... hehe. Mmm, look at all that soft, heavy flesh... your body so swollen and ruined for me. No one would even recognize you if I let you escape. I mean it’s not like you would be able to get far with that massive, wobbling obese body anyway... but those wanted signs have a whole different person from what I’m seeing right now. Your once perfect form buried under all this delicious fat I stuffed into you.

No one would love you now, just me. You no longer have a life out there, now all you have is me until your last breath. Don’t worry, I’m not in a rush. I want to enjoy every terrified yet dependent look on your face, hear you trying so desperately to grasp some air with your ruined lungs, seeing you try to move your fat wobbling obese body like if you still could do something... fuck, it makes me so wet watching you struggle like that.

I will feed you to an early death but I will enjoy every second I have. Every bite, every whimper, every heavy gasp as I push more into you... You’re mine now, all mine. Open up, my perfect, broken love.

Mmm, look at you... already squirming just reading this, aren't you? Go on, ruin yourself for all those pretty girls you'll never, ever touch.

Stuff that greedy, fat gut of yours while you pump away to the filthiest, most depraved porn you can dig up. Don't let a single coherent thought sneak through that melted, porn-fried brain — just chew, stroke, and let it all blur into blissful, sloppy haze for me.

Ruin every last relationship. Let pleasure swallow your life, your health, your future. Train those pathetic little triggers deep into your mind. Edge for hours like the desperate mess you are, throbbing and leaking, but no cumming — not until some cute, unattainable goddess you’ll never deserve finally whispers the word. And even then? Only if she feels like it.

You’ve already torched your sex life, your social life… why stop now, baby? There’s nothing left to lose, and you’ve still got so much more weight to pack on. Submit to it. Let obesity claim you. Stretch and ruin that waistline, pump grease and sugar into your body until your heart, your organs, everything struggles just for me. Fry your brain even deeper with endless porn.

Just hand it all over. Let a pretty girl like me take complete control and use you like the weak, pathetic, throbbing object you were always meant to be.

Riiiiiing, the alarm goes off; its deafening, raspy sound yanks you out of your sleep, forcing you to get out of bed. Somewhat groggy and clumsy, you manage to turn it off. You head to the shower, take a bath, dry yourself off, get dressed, and step out of your bedroom into the hallway. The hallway is empty, but not silent, as from afar you can hear a somewhat annoying yet unmistakable noise: the loud snoring of your pig, who is resting peacefully in his feedlot. You walk without making too much noise; you don't want to wake him up just yet. You listen to his snoring for a moment longer and then head toward the kitchen, where you prepare to mix the feed you will use to fatten up your beloved pig, continuing the degeneration of his body.

You prepare his food with unusual quickness; as you do, a blend of delicious, high-calorie aromas emanates and floods the house. These scents reach even the farthest corner of the home, and the feedlot of your precious pig is no exception. The heavy aroma wakes him; from a distance, you can hear the noise coming from his pen. You know he is struggling just to get out of bed. Normally you wouldn't allow it until later, but today you decide to make an exception. You let him open the door and, with a weary, clumsy stride, reach the kitchen table.

Once he appears in the kitchen, you greet him: "Good morning, my pig. Sit down, I’m about to serve your food." He responds with a slight nod of his head, affirming what you just said. You place his feeding dish in front of him and make a "stop" gesture with your hand. You serve your own breakfast at the opposite end of the table and sit down. Only then do you close your hand into a fist, and instantly, the pig begins to grotesquely engorge his food. The scene would be grotesque to many, since, after weeks of hard commitment, the pig has lost all his eating manners. But to you, it is simply perfect, almost exciting. His body is nearly unrecognizable from that very first time; a smile forms on your face—you can't help it. The pig, noticing your smile, returns the gesture with a smile of his own. He knows in his mind that this isn't right, but lust and gluttony have taken total control of his life. His high-calorie food doesn't help the cause; it only sinks him deeper into desire, generating more pleasure, more gluttony, and more lack of control. The pig doesn't care; he only wishes to serve the one who allows him to unleash his desires.

Both of you look at each other in silence, until the feeder breaks the spell with a calm but firm voice: "Pig, when you finish your food, rest for a moment. I will put your collar on, you will follow me, and it will be time for me to show you THE ROOM." The pig looks at him somewhat bewildered, his mouth still full, and replies: "As you wish, my feeder."

Once the meal and the appropriate resting time were over, the pig and the feeder stood up. The latter placed a red leather collar around the pig's neck. Extending from the collar was a chain used to guide his pet. After the preparations, they walked down the long, narrow hallway until the very end, where a large, locked red door stood.

Once in front of the door, the feeder pulled a small ring of keys from his pocket, unlocked the red door, and uttered a single word: "Inside." The pig, somewhat bloated from his first meal of the morning, stepped through the frame of that massive red door. Once inside the room, the pig didn't understand what he was looking at; he seemed rather confused by such a curious sight. The feeder saw the pig's doubtful face and, in a somewhat slow, calculated voice, spoke:

"—Do you remember, pig, when you first became my pet, I asked you if you were willing to go to the ultimate consequences? I recall being completely clear that there would be no turning back. Well, I wasn't speaking in vain. When I said I would take you to the ultimate consequences, I didn't mean it in a poetic sense. It was a promise, and I intend to keep it."

The pig maintained his astonished expression, made a small gesture, and somewhat hesitantly decided to speak:

"—My feeder, what is all this? This isn't just an exaggeration of what you expect from your market pig?"

The feeder looked at the pig with disdain and slowly approached him with a slightly threatening aura. When he was close enough, he grabbed him by the cheeks and pronounced:

"—Don't think you're so special, pig. You aren't the first one to fall into my hands. The heart monitor, the bariatric bed, the blood pressure machine, and the rest of the medical supplies are here because I have learned, I have improved, as a feeder. Everything you see here is part of my evolution. You are just another pig on my list, do you understand? DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Hearing those words, the pig felt a mixture of fear and desire in equal measure. The pig couldn't help but get excited by such words; with a faint voice, the pig exclaimed:

"—Understood, oink. I’m just one more, oink."

Hearing those words, the feeder smiled slightly, took the pig's leash, and pointed to a glass display case. Inside it, various collars could be seen, all of different colors and each with a charm. The pig couldn't gauge how many there were, but he understood that the feeder's words weren't empty. He wasn't the first!

That thrilled the pig and ignited a new desire within him: he wanted to be in that display case not just as another one, but as one that could never be forgotten. The feeder tugged on the pig's leash and signaled him to leave the room, while that red door slowly closed, and they moved down the hallway toward his feedlot. Both the pig and the feeder understood that they had taken a small step down a path they could no longer avoid.

<<The feeder, pig a and another be darkness, door ended his how in left lingering, please red room silent the they to tried ultimately up. waiting, was with witness>>

 “So gluttony turns you on huh?”

You have no idea. So let me give you a taste.

I can think of few things hotter than someone who can’t stop eating - who won’t stop eating - until they can’t move. Someone whose breathing quickens at the sight of food. Someone who just can’t help themselves.

Someone whose body bears the marks of their indulgence - belly softened and distended by countless huge and heavy meals, hips and thighs padded with the richness of millions of calories. A face rounded by bingeing, chins multiplied by lack of self control.

Stretchmarks make me weak in the knees because they show me that person will gorge themselves until they’re literally splitting at the seams.

Give me an eater so eager their world shrinks to the size of a laden table, who doesn’t see beyond the edge of their next plate. I want someone I can feed into a stupor, until they think only about the feel of one mouthful hitting their stomach as the next hits their tongue.

If you really want to impress me, get on all fours and eat until that belly touches the ground.

What is eaten doesn’t matter as long as it’s eaten enthusiastically and to excess. Restaurant plates piled high or bag upon bag of greasy fast food. Sweet, fattening treats or healthy, homecooked meals made for four. Eat it all for me and top it off with a gallon of melted ice cream gulped straight from the tub.

Eat until you’re panting from the pressure of your overstuffed stomach against your lungs. Until your belly bloats out into your lap, your skin stretched taut and shiny over all that you’ve stuffed into yourself.

Eat slowly, neatly, savoring every bite and letting not a single crumb or calorie go to waste. Take the time to revel in the knowledge that your gorging will only make it easier to eat more down the road. 

Or cram handfuls into your face like you can’t fill that growing belly fast enough. Stick your face right in your plate like a pig at a trough, groaning in gluttonous ecstasy.

Let yourself moan in pleasurable discomfort even as you continue to eat as though you’ll never stop.

Loosen your belt, two notches then three, until the tongue slips through the buckle. Undo the button of you pants and let the weight of your heavy gut push the zipper down.

My ideal relationship is one in which there are never any leftovers.

Show me the glutton that you are and I will tease you for your lack of self control and remind you that your unchecked greed is exactly why you got this fat. I can see exactly how much of a pig you’re making of yourself in every roll of fat hanging from your frame.

Show me the size of your appetite and I will worship the bulging belly you’ve built with it and sweetly coax you to keep going.

Eat like every meal is your last, as if the food will disappear if you don’t stuff yourself fast enough. Eat like a bear fattening up for winter. Eat up. Eat more. Eat it all.

The only reason he went along with it half the time was that she got super horny after every investigation they got into.

This time she'd decided Happy Cows Farms was the source of some deep conspiracy he really couldn't be bothered to listen to.

And this was like every investigation they got into. They found nothing. Sure she rode him for mindblowing sex after each night they staked out the farm, but he wasn't happy.

Especially when she wanted them to apply to work at Happy Cows Farms with fake resumes to slip away and film the facilities. Davin really didn't want to get arrested. He was also a sucker for blowjobs.

So Davin found himself getting an interview from Mrs. Mathews, a certified MILF, stumbling through the whole thing.

The plan was to ask to go to the bathroom, then sneak around and film where they could, even though Davin didn't want to sneak around. When Mrs. Mathews left to check on something midway through the interview he debated sneaking out. But she came back before he could decide going as far as to offer him the job, pending a blood test. Before he could protest that he didn't want the job and really had to pee, there was a needle in his arm. Some papers were shoved in front of him that he might've signed. He blacked out.

He woke to the MILF rubbing herself in front of him. "Oh sorry! I can't help myself This is my favorite part!" He grunted, struggling against restraints. Holy shit, he was jacked. He struggled again, it didn't work.

There was a scent in the air that he unconsciously recognized as pussy. His cock rose, and rose, to preposterous proportions.

"You, you did this to MOOOOOO," The question coming out as a loud bellow.

Mrs. Mathews bit her lip, flicking her bean. "Of course. Your girlfriend was smart to figure us out. Sorry, former girlfriend. You're going to have a lot of girlfriends now, with how potent you are. You're going to be a very happy bull!" The MILF moaned as she came.

"But yes, we turn people into cattle. Sexy, dumb, docile cattle. And their milk, well, It doesn't make the drinkers sexy but it does make them docile, dumb, and horny. An entire nation of dumb fucktoys!" She came again. "An you get to be one of our bulls! It's rare to find someone so potent, so compatible. You are going to breed so many cows. I'm jealous." She paused. "But I should leave now. I'm sadly too old to be a cow." She left the, room, Davin pondering her last statement before he was bombarded by lights and colors.

---

Bull looked around the room, confused. And horny. There was a familiar scent. Pussy. Cunt. Fuckhole. "Oh, You're awake?" Bull didn't understand, he just felt his cock growing hard. "Oh, you are excited. Follow me, big bull!" He followed, watching the sway of her ass.

The was just about to pounce on that ass and fill it full of calves when he smelled something more wonderful. And the swaying ass led him directly towards it! A room with a cow in it!

"Please, Davin, don't do this," The cow pleaded. Bull didn't understand a word. There was a fertile cow he needed to breed.

"Please, they did something to MOOO! I mean, to MOOO!"

"Please Davin, they turned me to a fucking cow!" Her oversized, milk-filled tits agreed with this. Bull rubbed his fat cock against her ass.

"No! If you fuck MOO I'll be a dumb cow!"

Bull thrust, missing her cunt. He thrust again, to same result. The non cow directed his cock. It slid halfway in the cow's cunt. "MOOOOO," she cried. "Please, Davin, I don't want to be a-" Bull thrust all the way in the cow. She mooed. Bull continued to fuck. He need to make sure she bore his calves. The cattle came at the same time.

The cow mooed loudly as the non cow lead Bull away by the cock. "I promise I'll let you fuck her the most," she said to an uncaring beast, "But we have a business to run, and you have so many cows to breed. Gawd that gets me so hot. If I were 20 years younger!"

Now, let’s talk about these tits, sweetie.

“T-tits? Wha, what’s–oh god. Um, I, you, y-you shouldn’t–”

I know I shouldn’t. But it’s interesting that you led with ‘you shouldn’t’, instead of 'I don’t want you to’. Another woman just walked up behind you, sat down, and started groping those big heavy sweater puppies of yours right through your clothing, and your only response was to tell me that it’s… what, socially inappropriate? Hmph. I was going to tell you how horny and helpless your big titties made you, but I don’t even think we need to have that conversation anymore, do we?

“Y-yes, no, I… I don’t know, I… ohhh, fuck. How, how are you–”

Turning you into a drooling idiot just by playing with your tits? Because they’re the only thing that really matters about you. Oh, you can try to play smart to other people, babe. You can be all 'my eyes are up here’, you can dress in bulky shapeless sweaters, you can say whatever you want about being more than just a pair of big boobies. But when push comes to shove, when someone gets their hands on those huge honking udders of yours and starts teasing your nipples, well… all those brains leak right the fuck out onto your panties, don’t they? You don’t really want them, not nearly as much as you want me to grope your huge fucking melons.

“N-n-nnhhh, I… I… nnnnnhhhhh….”

Listen to you. You can’t even make the word 'no’ leave your mouth when I’m milking your titties like this. Every time you try, your body reminds you how much pleasure you’re getting from my touch and turns that 'no’ into another sexy moan for Mistress. Pretty soon you’re going to forget how language works completely, aren’t you, good girl? A sexy little cow like you doesn’t need anything more than a nice big moo when Mistress is making her udders tingle so good like that. Go on, sweetie, open that vacant little mouth and moo for me, okay?

“Mmmm… m-mmmmmm….”

Oh, it’s so cute that you think you’re going to fight me on this! Let’s not pretend, okay? Let’s not pretend you’re smart and strong and determined enough to resist my will. Give me a moo and slip away into that cow trance, and Mistress promises you so much pleasure….

“M-MOOOOOOO!”

Good cow. That’s a good cow for Mistress. Off with that shirt, sweetie pie, good cows don’t need clothing… there we go. Good cow.