Milky kink blog

It's important to be consistent when training a new toy and to respond to behaviour straight away, whether to punish or reward. And it's fun to watch them struggle against the way you puppet them both so completely.

Knights from a chaste order, forced into revealing outfits, into showing themselves off to the jeering of your court. The one with their mind intact you let have a 'win' every now and then, allowing them to wrest control of their body back, let them taste sweet freedom for a few moments-- let them run, try and attack, but then your will ensnares theirs again and you know you need to punish them each time they do this, so you force them onto their knees, making them service your many loyal followers in the middle of your hall. You can see the hatred and the anger and the disappointment in themselves at having failed, at having their control and willpower usurped by yours once again.

For extra torture, you use the other knight as a puppet and whisper word of encouragement to the one you're breaking in. This one you completely dominated, locking up everything but their thoughts (and even then, you get to hear them change over time, losing that disgust and fear and sorrow as they succumb to how hopeless their situation truly us) as you have them say that the next time they'll get it, that they're fighting together still, and you put on some little performances with that knight seeming to similarly win a few moments of freedom only to be brought low once more.

At night, you let the mind-intact knight think they have some freedom, and you don't know (even being able to look into their hearts and minds as easily as dissecting any fleshly creature) if they ever would have become as close to each other as they do in your care, but it is amusing to have your puppet shyly seek comfort in the other, escalate slowly until your still-unbroken toy is convinced the puppet is its only source of salvation; hearts are easy things to manipulate when you hold all the pieces.

Flooding the toy's body with lust and letting them work up the courage to beg the puppet for relief, letting the toy curse you and your magic and the 'vile torture' you subject them to, as if you can't feel how truly they enjoy it when they have an incubus cock down their throat or a centaur mounting them as onlookers clap and jeer and add their own cum or spit or milk to the pretty pearlescent veil they already have on their face, or that you can't, through your connection to their body, soul, and mind, feel them throb whenever they see you approach in your own body.

It's interesting, seeing how long it takes to crush their will and resistance over time. Sure, it flares up again and again, but less frequently each time. Sometimes they don't even notice you leave their control in tact or release them while they're too busy humiliating themselves for your pleasure.

It is amusing, too, to have them pledge themselves to your puppet, to promise fruitlessly that both of them would escape, your puppet spurring them on, knowing it will just lead to more and more excuses to punish them and drive them even lower and more desperate than they already are.

You have the puppet seed the idea over time that they've started finding themselves craving the base acts of lust and perversion, have them cry and rut against your toy, getting off together at the fantasies you have spill from its lips, seeing which ignite those traitorous sparks in your toy's libido. It gives your toy the excuse it needs to give in a little more, to admit that they're the same, the human need to match their mates as pressing a drive as any, the fear of being left behind or forgotten a powerful motivator to comply.

The day you sit on your throne, thighs spread as you order your toy to come service you and you leave their control entirely up to them and they don't even hesitate to approach at the languid, hip-rolling pace you normally force their body to adhere to, and drop to their knees and shove their face into your cunt and lap at it with all the vigour and hungry little moans as your most seasoned succubus... you actually cum from their expression alone when you whisper to them that you're surprised they didn't already take the opportunity to try and run again; that sense of surprise, the moment of suspicion, the shame then flooding them as they lift their hand and watch themselves move their fingers by their own power, and the flood of arousal and humiliation they feel when they start sucking at your dripping folds again.

And I won't be taking the short route with implants or fillers or anything like that.

No, an intensive routine, starting in the morning. Exercises meant to increase your blood flow and stamina. A hearty breakfast to keep you fueled for the rest of the day. As well as all your favorite foods, drinks, and snacks, keep you nice and plump. What happens after breakfast varies from day to day. All packed with different meds to make sure you swell in all the right places, and keep you full and milky.

Mondays and Wednesday, we'll have you hooked up to specialized pumps, just for your nipples and clit.

Tuesdays and Thursday you'll be hooked up to pumps for your tits, cups big enough to hold the entire thing.

Saturdays are your "free" day, you're free to do anything you want, but all day long you'll have a thick dildo in your cunt.

Sundays are, of course, for the lord. You will spend all day pleasuring myself and whomever I choose. Perhaps this is just me, maybe a group of friends, maybe I take you to dive bars and strip clubs and let strangers grope and grab you, maybe I take you to the most popular gloryholes so you can service whatever gets stuck through the gap.

I'm sure for the first few months your growth will be slow, but we'll document every cm, every milligram, every ounce. But as time goes on, you're grow faster and faster. Everyone will know you, not by name or by face, but by how your tits enter the room before your body does. By how wide your hips have gotten, permanently stretched by the increasingly thick toys. By how wonderful your mouth and throat feels.

And after a year, well, you'll be so stretched, pumped, and fucked you won't even remember what your life was like before. Maybe you'll want to stay, keep being the good "little" cow everyone knows and love, maybe you'll try to have a normal life.

You'll have to move though, everyone in a 50km radius will know you. And even then, rumors will follow. Your coworkers will whisper and talk, eventually growing bold enough to ask about it. I'm sure some won't even bother asking, just pulling you into the nearest closet or bathroom and having their way.

A whole year to be reshaped into essentially a living sex doll, absurd curves, just continuing to make myself into more and more of a walking advertisement for perversion.

I wonder how long it'd take before I'd give up even trying to do "normal" things on Saturdays and just use it as another day to keep sexualising myself? Extra pumping sessions, going to gloryholes and adult stores on my own, begging for an even thicket dildo to keep in me all day...

A year is a long time for a habit to form. Even after I didn't have to follow the regime after the year ended... well. It's what I know now. It's normal. And my body knows the schedule as well as my mind-- My body knows the days I wake up with my nipples and clit throbbing, and the ones where my tits are already aching for attention.

Staying at my job as long as I can get away with it, because at least there I'm already in the door-- if I had to apply for another job, what would they even think seeing my porno-wet-dream-hentai body trying to squeeze into anything even approaching interview appropriate, making it look like an adult store costume by virtue of how I look...

Or maybe the opposite, pump you so full of drugs to make you produce like crazy nonstop only to be left struggling to pump them with nipples that are too small to handle the immense production leaving you constantly engorged.

Either way, what torturous bliss...

There is something to be said for a mismatch of proportions-- massive teats on smaller breasts, leaking so easily you basically drain yourself as soon as you let down because they make such a mess all the time

You don't get out until your udders are bonafide milk factories.

I think I would grow to hate that hole in the bucket, the only thing to really focus on aside from begging my tits to hurry up and make more milk.

It'd become all-consuming, an obsession, all my attention entirely on my milk production rate. It'd be like when people get into the obsessive flow state of one of those factory building games looking for hyper-efficiency.

Once I finally get out of the milking station, I think I'd end up feeling some massive amount of relief from the success, like possibly to the point of orgasm, that sense of accomplishment releasing so many good chemicals in my brain it wipes the rest of me out for a while.

I think it'd be a big adjustment, trying to go back to normal life with a pair of over-productive, extremely milky, massive udders and teats that have been stretched out like a cow's. Physically, obviously, and having to deal with leaking through everything, even with the thickest, most absorbable milk pads in my bras. It'd be too painful to wear bras, probably, not without holes cut in for my teats because of the size and sensitivity.

And I'd still have to be pumping myself regularly or the pain from the engorgement would be too much, and then a normal milk pump wouldn't be able to keep up (or probably even fit over my teats)...

I'd try and resist, initially, but I would end up back in the milking station. It just doesn't feel right to be milked a different way, and I find myself craving that sense of achievement. Maybe I swap out the bucket for a larger one, and then one with a larger hole...