A girlfriend wakes her boyfriend up with a chest massage...soon enough it's not just a flat chest anymore
The relaxation that he had felt moments ago had started to fade into panic as Eli's girlfriend continued her massage. Strange, new feelings were spreading through his chest. They weren't bad feelings; in fact, they were quite good, but he had never felt them before and that made him worried. As he craned his neck up, he saw that her so-called "deep-tissue massage" was starting to go deeper, but not because she was pressing harder; something was rising up! Erica smirked as she watched the horror of realization settle onto his face. Her hands set to work faster, groping and kneading the swelling chest on her boyfriend's chest.
"What's the matter, baby? Not enjoying your massage?"
Eli went to respond, but her fingers brushed against his nipples and a jolt ran through him. His back arched, pushing his chest into her hands and throwing his head back as a choked moan stuttered out of him. "W-what are y-you... Oouuhhhnnn..."
The moment he started speaking, Erica redoubled her efforts, scooping his growing chest from underneath and squeezing it between her fingers. "Me? I'm giving you a gift, sweetie! Something to help you."
His breasts—that's what they were now—continues to swell in her grip, the lotion on her hands encouraging the rapid expansion. Eli whimpered as the sensations amplified. Despite himself, his boxers were getting tight. He couldn't speak; the closest he could get were quick, gasping moans. Erica's giggles were tinted with cruelty.
"Shhh, shhh, it's okay! Just relax, baby. I'm helping you! I figured, since you couldn't stop staring at that bitch Annalise with her gigantic fucking cowtits despite the fact that my boobs are absolutely massive, I figured I'd give you a pair of your own so you'd never be too distracted!"
Eli grabbed at the sheets of the bed, gasping and letting his eyes roll back. "I... D-didn't... I... W-w-wasn't! Aahhhnnn~!"
The tits swelling on his chest were starting to get seriously huge, maybe even larger than Erica's and getting dangerously close to eclipsing his own head but she wasn't done yet. No, if he'd be distracted by anyone with bigger tits, she had to make sure he would be the bustiest person he'd ever see. She gave him a moment to breathe while she applied some more lotion to her hands. A soft giggle slipped out of her as she resumed massaging and kneading and growing her boyfriend's tits. They were going to have so much fun shopping for bras together!
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but consider also: bra shaped portals for people to suck your tits on demand and out of your control
Either two separate portals so different people each can access one tit at a time, or they connect as a larger portal so they can use both
Trying to concentrate in a meeting while someone swirls their tongue around your nipples, maybe you're hooked up to an industrial strength milker, or someone is clearly fucking your tits, and you're just trying to stay still and quiet and not moan
That salary? Those hours? The benefits? Custom tailoring seemed oddly specific, but your chest-stretched wardrobe needed all the help it could get. Your new skirt-and-blazer combo was sharp and sexy, the underwear fit like a dream, and together it showed off everything you wanted while staying on juuuust the right side of professional.
For the first few months, anyway.
After a while it started to feel...tight. A little pressure around the waist. Some shortness of breath, barely noticeable unless you had to run between offices. And of course, just a tiny bit more cleavage. Must have shrunk a little in the wash, right? No big deal. With only one set of outfits offered per year, it was better to stick with them through a little oddness, even if it was strange how each piece seemed affected the exact same way.
So you kept telling yourself, even as it got a little worse with every passing day, until one morning you looked in the mirror and instead of breasts you had tits.
They hadn't grown, per se, but what you were seeing was definitely not on the right side of professional. In some tops they were practically spilling out, in others outlined a little too well, in a couple pushed up and together in a way that made them look entirely too fuckable, but in all of them the sort of obscene that seemed like it'd make you hard to take seriously.
Having spent too long shuffling through outfits to find one that didn't make you look like a sexy parody of yourself, you had no choice but to hustle out the door, trying your best to ignore the heaving.
It was less than thirty minutes before you were called into your boss's office.
"Surely you must realise that this is unacceptable," she says, gesturing at your...everything.
"I-"
"I don't want to hear it. We go to all the trouble of getting a whole wardrobe custom-made for you, and this is what you do? Cinch it up to show off those tits of yours?"
"But-"
"Quiet! It's always the same with you new hires. We give you an inch and you take..."
She pauses, staring emphatically at the sinful amount of cleavage you're putting on display.
"...a mile. Well, unfortunately for you, we have ways to remedy the situation."
She hands you a pair of what look like the detached half-cups of the bra you're wearing.
"Put these over your tits and maybe you'll stop giving every client who walks in the impression that we hire shameless sluts, hm? Five minutes."
With that, she walks out of the office and closes the door behind her. She doesn't bother to lock it.
Flustered, you quickly free your tits (that's what they are, aren't they?) and try placing the half-cups over them. Nothing happens at first, but then there's an odd sort of hum and they suddenly shrink. You don't feel any compression, but with the five minutes almost up you hurriedly stuff yourself back into your blouse just in time for the door to open again.
It's one of your coworkers. "Boss says time's up!" he laughs. "C'mon, that'll have to do, our team meeting is about to start."
You hurry down the hall after him, suddenly self-conscious and trying not to think about the amount of heaving that's still happening.
As you take your seat, your boss looks you up and down with narrowed eyes before turning away without a word. She opens the meeting's agenda, but you're only half paying attention; the suddenness of the whole thing has you rattled and even with the weird devices you still feel a lot closer to the wrong side of professional than you did last week.
Something brushes your nipple. You manage to keep from letting out a squeak, but the sudden jump in your seat still makes everyone turn to look at you.
"Ah, sorry! Please continue..."
Your boss gives you another Look before turning back to the projector. The second brush comes as less of a surprise, but that only lets you better take in the absurdity of the situation; was there something in those things she made you wear? No, there can't have been. They were perfectly smooth and even now the fit seems so snug that there wouldn't be any room.
You're still trying to puzzle it out when you're asked somewhat condescendingly for your update. Just as you stand to address the room there's a sharp tug that causes you to stumble forward, followed by the unmistakable sensation of licking.
Doing your best to ignore the snickering you stutter your way quickly through your report, one of your verbal hiccups turning into something close enough to a moan that your face flushes. You sit back down, a little unsteady but glad to no longer be the center of attention.
A few agonizingly, deliciously slow minutes pass, and when you manage to avoid attracting any more attention you start to think maybe you'll be able to get out of this (whatever it is) with some measure of pride intact.
There's another tug, sharper than before. You lurch forward onto the table, your tits displayed prominently against the hard surface.
Your boss turns to your co-worker. "Deal with her," she says curtly, and he escorts you firmly out of the room and back to her office. There's kissing and sucking on your shouldn't-be-exposed flesh the whole way.
He closes the door. It's locked, this time.
"Couldn't resist, huh?" he grins at you, taking a step forward. You try to cover your tits with your arms, but the sensations don't stop and he just laughs.
"Hey, I'm not doing anything," he says easily. "You're the one who keeps sharin' the goods with anyone who cares to look, aren'tcha?"
"N-no!" You stutter. It sounds unconvincing even to you, turning into a gasp halfway through as the distinct pinch of a clamp closes around both nipples at once. God, is that a chain between them? You shake your head and keep going, doing your best to avoid eye contact. "It was...m-my clothes, they..."
"...were perfectly tailored to you, yeah? Sure doesn't look like it now, does it, slut?"
You try to give him a reproachful look, but another gasp turns it into something more simpering. He laughs again.
"Well what else should I call someone who ruins a perfectly good set of custom work clothes to show themselves off to everyone?"
"I d-didn't! They, they changed shape or something, and then she brought me in here and put these things on me and-"
He takes two deliberate steps towards your boss's table and knocks on it five times. You have a brief moment to wonder dazedly why he's tapping out "shave and a haircut" before it's repeated in a series of pulls on what's apparently your nipple chain. The last one is so much stronger that you let out a full on yelp and stumble to your knees.
He crosses the room in unhurried strides, placing a hand gently but firmly on your head as you struggle to rise.
"What, you don't think we do social media checks on our new hires?" he says with an audible smirk. "Yeah, the boss told me aaaaaaall about you..."
The implications don't even have time to sink in before he reaches down and shoves on one of your tits, the device attached to it reshaping seamlessly to flatten itself against your chest. There's a weird bobbing sensation that distracts you for long enough for him to do the same to the other one.
Almost immediately, the clamps come off and are replaced by a rhythmic, mechanical suction. The change in stimulus finally forces an unambiguous moan out of you, and the only thing that stops you from dropping onto all fours is your face burying itself into his crotch.
You jerk backward, his warmth and size lingering on your cheek. He laughs.
"Get up, slut. You've still got a whole day of work before we even think about having any more fun with you."
You rise shakily to your feet, thankfully not stumbling or moaning again, but a quick look down reveals another problem: your bra now sits empty, your blouse hanging limply from your shoulders.
Your brain fogged over by one event after another and the constant suck, suck, suck on your nipples (God, they've gotten sensitive after all this), you spend a couple of seconds staring dumbly at the empty space where your tits are supposed to be.
He laughs. Again.
"Don't worry, slut," he says in that condescending voice, circling you with measured steps. "We'll get you a loaner pair."
He chuckles again as he reaches into your top from behind, placing one hand on each of the devices. With a pull and a squeeze your bra fills out again...but you can't feel anything.
Well, not from what's currently hanging off your chest, anyway. If anything, the sucking is getting stronger.
You take several seconds to catch up to reality. You reach into your blouse tentatively; your finger registers the sensation you expect, but the flesh you touched doesn't. You reach down to where the nipple should be, trying your best to reconcile the conflicting messages your eyes and nerves are giving you.
Your hand brushes over something swollen and puffy...then the cold metal of a piercing. You jerk your arm up in surprise. There's milk on your fingertips.
"Done groping yourself, then?" your coworker says smugly. He's in front of you again, openly leering at...whatever these are.
"...they aren't mine!"
"They're on your chest."
"T-they're pierced! And...and leaking!"
"They're from the future," he says with an uncharacteristically straight face. It's the last straw; of all the absurdity that's taken place, the fact of having to seriously consider time-travelling udders being attached to you (with the milk to prove it) brings the rest of it crashing in all at once.
Where are your tits? What are they doing to them? What are they going to do to them? What's filling your bra? Is this really what's going to happen to you? What was the deal with all your clothes in the first place???
He watches as half-baked theories and disbelief chase each other through your mind for a few seconds...then bursts out laughing again, because of course he does.
You're almost to annoyed when the sudden removal of the suction jolts your thoughts again.
"Alright, we've spent enough time in here. Back to work!" he says jovially, as though the two of you were just finishing up a friendly chat. He unlocks the door, opens it, and gestures you through; you hesitate, uncertain, but what else are you supposed to do? Maybe if their attention drifts away from you for long enough you can find a way out of this mess.
You walk over to your cubicle, everything seeming incongruously normal even as you feel his eyes on you the whole way.
The instant you're out of sight, the pressure around your waist suddenly increases. You let out a little gasp, then poke your head back out; he looks like he's chuckling at something on his phone. He looks up and sees you, but his thumb stays on the screen; your impromptu corset loosens again, but it's still a bit tighter than before.
He gives you a wave and a grin. You duck back into the relative privacy of your allotted four beige walls and sit down, wondering what to do next.
There's a pamphlet on your desk that wasn't there before.
The exterior gives away nothing about its contents, but with how your day's been going they can't be anything good. You reach out and open it up.
It's a Morse code reference.
What?
There's a sudden short tug on one of your nipples, followed by two long tugs on the other one.
...oh they cannot be serious.
Three long tugs. You guess they are.
You collapse back into your chair and start giggling at the ridiculousness of it all. It turns quickly into gasping, between the tightness around your waist and the continued pulling; short, long, short, then a break, then long, short, long.
Then a sudden shock that makes you jump.
Then they start over.
You hurriedly bend forward, grabbing a pen and marking the letters. W...then O...then R...oh, it's "work"! Your victory is short-lived as another jolt runs through your tits.
With no other options presenting themselves, you quickly log into your computer and open up the document you were working on yesterday. The pulling is replaced by gentle vibrating (though not so gentle you don't have to worry about moaning again), and there are no more shocks.
You breathe a sigh of relief, leaning back and closing your eyes for a moment.
A sudden hot sensation pulls your eyes open. Are they dripping wax on you?? You raise your arms over your chest protectively, but of course it does nothing. Your fingers find the keyboard again and the burning drops cut out immediately.
Hands trembling only a little, you get to work.
The vibrations are distracting, but not overly so; it fades into a constant background hum as you focus on your daily tasks. You're surprised at how easy it is to fall back on routine, even with how...nonstandard your morning has been. An hour passes, then two, and the lack of further disruptions begins to lull you into a sense of security.
"Got lunch for ya!" your coworker grins around the cubicle wall, a tray in his hands. You turn around with some trepidation, but when no punishment is forthcoming you head over to take it from him. You half expect to be made to drop it, or for him to do something to you, but he just waves off your distracted thanks and saunters away.
You eat slowly (the cafeteria food here is worth savouring; another one of their strangely generous perks), but even after taking a quick break to get some cold water nothing changes. Not wanting to push it, you get back to work without dallying too much longer.
The computer won't log on.
You let out a soft laugh. Really? Today, of all days? You turn to pick up the phone and dial the IT department, hoping this still counts as "work".
You haven't had to do this before, but it seems like they're taking a while to pick up. The hold music is a weird sort of buzzing drone, but there's a definite melody to it that's surprisingly pleasant. You can feel your body start to heat up; you'd been so focused on your workday that you hadn't realised how wet the constant stimulation was making you.
Your left hand starts to wander down your body, slipping into the waistband of your skirt...your fingertips brush against your swollen clit...you let out a low moan into the receiver as you start to rub...
"Good girl," says a voice on the other end. You don't recognise it. You note with dull amusement that you've finally stopped jumping every time something new happens, but the thought is quickly washed away by the waves of pleasure spreading across your body.
You're openly masturbating at your desk now, but you can't bring yourself to care. The vibrating has stopped and your tits are being groped and kneaded as something warm and hard slides between them, but at this point it just makes you even hornier. You dip two fingers into yourself, then three, your hand working frantically as you lose yourself in bliss...
A dial tone suddenly plays through the receiver and this time you do jump a little, the headset clattering to the table as you drop it in surprise. You look down and see "your" udders spilling out of your bra, one pressed lewdly against your blouse, the other hanging out of it entirely, both staining it with milk. The heart-shaped piece of metal surrounding and piercing the nipple in front of you confuses you for a moment, but you quickly compose yourself enough to stuff the udders back into your bra and make yourself...if not decent, then at least a little less indecent.
Your lust-addled brain finally puts together that your tits are obviously being fucked. You try to cover them again, and when it doesn't work you can almost hear your coworker's laugh ringing in your ears.
Wait, you can hear it. Distant and tinny, like it's coming through a speaker, but at this point it's unmistakable.
You hurriedly sit up straight, putting the phone back in place and turning to your computer. You log in without thinking, but you barely have time to be surprised that it worked before there's a knock on your cubicle.
"Working hard, I see," your boss says as she rounds the wall, phone in hand.
The vampirism was manageable, but less so those times their friend's milk really started coming in and that brought in their own cravings.
Elizaveta learned two important lessons the day she first tasted her best friend Becky's milk.
The first was that vampires don't actually need blood to survive. Despite being well on her way to three centuries old, she only then realized that it was the life force she needed and she was stunned to find that her friend's milk was able to meet her craving for life force. The last few decades, she had grown weary of having to find and drink blood, in at least small part because of the fact that hunting for prey was getting harder and harder to hide. To know that her friend's milk could meet that need without the need to hunt the old fashioned way was revelatory for Liz.
The other thing she learned, however, was the true depth of her hunger. Blood was an incredibly efficient way to absorb life force, though often at the cost of her victims. Milk, though containing life force—all bodily fluids contain some amount—didn't contain nearly as much, per volume, as blood did. A traditional feeding could meet her need for a few days, sometimes as much as a week. Liz could still taste the sweet milk on her tongue by the time the cravings started again.
The vampire tried to be patient. She tried to be gracious. The need to feed, however, could not be calmed. Minutes felt like hours as she tried to gauge how much time would need to pass before she could ask Becky for more milk. The hunger was grating on her, making her agitated, making her violent. She never took it out on Becky, but she came awfully close a few times. Despite the emotion behind it, screaming "Then fucking make it faster!" did little to accelerate Becky's milk. The end of Liz's tether was getting awfully close and, if she didn't do something about it, she knew that she would do something she'd regret, something that might push her cow friend away forever.
Secretly dosing Becky with lactation drugs didn't feel good, but the results were magnificent. Almost immediately, Becky's production doubled and Liz was right there to help her with the milkings. As her production continued to climb, Becky suspected—she knew that Liz had done something to her, but she couldn't prove it. And, even if she could, what would that get her? Her tits were still massive and growing and making more and more milk with each passing day. Without Liz to help her drain it and to drink it all, what would she do? Besides, it wasn't all bad. She liked feeling useful. She liked being able to provide for her friend. There was something about the way Liz looked at her that was... enthralling. She couldn't look away. She couldn't resist. It had frightened her before, but now, when Liz asked her to make more milk, she simply agreed. And she knew that she would.
"Trust me, she might not look it but she's a grower, not a shower. Get her riled up and she'll fill that shirt out like no one else."
The straps weren't going to last much longer and neither was Kim. Flames of arousal and fluster licked at her pink cheeks as her best friends sat on either side of her. Each heavy beat of her heart made her whole body pulse, her breasts inching forward with each one. Her tank top had mostly fit when she put it on that evening but now it was on its last legs. She wanted desperately to get up and go hide in her room, or, at the very least, change, but she couldn't move. She was rooted in place. All she could do was tremble and whimper and grow.
A pair of lips brushed against the left side of Kim's neck, a low chuckle vibrating between them. Michelle let a warm breath waft over Kim's sensitive skin. Down below, somewhere on the other side of the mountain of tit in front of her, Michelle's fingers drummed intentionally against the side of her flustered friend's leg. "Hmm... I don't know, Julie..." Michelle was doing her best to make her voice sensual and sultry and, by god, it was working. Kim let out a strained groan, her eyes fluttering. Michelle pressed on. "You said that she was a grower but... I just don't see it! Are you sure?"
The growing girl in the middle nearly melted into a puddle as Julie leaned in from the other side, resting her arms on Kim's shoulder and letting her own, rather large breasts squish against her upper arm. "What do you mean, Michelle?" She spoke innocently enough, but the way she ground her tits against Kim suggested otherwise.
Michelle leaned in, matching Julie's pose, talking to each other about the busty girl between them as if she weren't in the room. "Well, you said that if we worked together, and gave Kim a good tease, we might see some growing, but we've been at it all night and I just haven't seen it!" Michelle pouted. "I was really hoping to see a flustered cutie grow some absolutely gargantuan tits. Some truly monstrous udders. Some massive, sloshy milkers." With each lewd name, Michelle leaned in a bit closer and Kim tensed, her breasts swelling just a tiny bit larger. After the last one, Michelle leaned back just a little and breathed out a slow sigh. "But, I guess I'm just out of luck."
Too busy dealing with her growing tits, already sitting in her own lap, Kim never saw Julie bite her lip or the arousal that was forming on her face as well. "Oh, but Michelle! Haven't you seen?" Kim let out a yelp, her breasts surging in size, as Julie reached forward and grabbed one of the growing breasts between them. "All you have to look down here and you'll see some of the biggest, most beautiful, and still growing tits that you've ever seen!"
"...g-guys..." Kim had never made a more pathetic sound in her life.
Michelle feigned a gasp, glancing down towards the avalanche of tit spilling off of her friend's chest. "Oh, my goodness! How could I have missed those monstrous udders?! And... fuck me, they are! They're still getting bigger!"
"...g-guysssss..." As Kim squeezed her thighs together, the tits resting on top of them wobbled and sloshed. She was nearing her limit, but she wanted them to stop just as much as she wished they wouldn't.
A small bump was forming through the fabric of Kim's overworked top and Julie didn't hesitate to start making circles around it with her finger. "They're incredible, aren't they? So big and beautiful and round and heavy. God, it just makes you want to do all sorts of things to them, doesn't it? Tease them. Grope them. Squeeze them. Suck on them. Worship them. Bury your entire fucking head between them!"
The two women on either side of Kim started to giggle, but they were cut off by Kim's outcry. "Aaaahnnn~ GUYS! I—" She didn't have time to finish the thought. Her head shot back and another moan rolled out of her. She arched her back and thrust her chest forward. Before their eyes, Kim's tits ballooned outward. They expanded in every direction, growing bigger and heavier by the second.
Without any fanfare, the straps finally gave way and Kim's tits tumbled forward. They spread out under their own weight, covering her lap almost completely. Her nipples, now exposed to the air, quivered and twitched and ached for attention. "F-fuck..." Kim spoke through ragged breaths. "You guys... owe me... a new... shirt..."
The two women looked at each other. They looked down at the astronomically, impossibly huge tits between them. Michelle purred as she leaned in, placing a hand on the tit closest to her and burying her face against the crook of Kim's neck. She could feel the tit pulsing larger under her hand as she kissed her way up the side of Kim's neck, along the edge of her jaw, before nibbling on Kim's earlobe. The busty, growing woman was lost, moaning as she felt Michelle's breath on her ear.
In a low, husky voice, Michelle whispered, "Oh, Kim... You fucking goddess... I think we owe you a bit more than just a new shirt..."
girl who has you pinned. girl who is bigger and stronger than you. girl who in spite of this is looking at you like a lost puppy. girl who is whining and trembling with need. girl who locks eyes with you and frantically mutters “pleasepleasepleaseplease” under her breath. lustdrunk mutt who waits for permission to take what it wants despite knowing it could at any time. dog who is so so so so good.
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need someone to swap out my sleep meds for something way stronger so i can wake up in a milking rig somewhere dark with something stretching my cunt out and no idea how long i've been out for and all i can tell is that my nipples are so sensitive and sore and so is my cunt
I've always wanted to be cumflated so i've been feeding my bf these sperm booster pills every meal of the past week! Do you think he's ready to cum inflate my womb or do i need to keep feeding him the boosters?
Oh, honey, you're gonna need to empty him now.
You're really only supposed to take one cum booster a day and for no more than three days before releasing. If you've been feeding him cum boosters for every meal and for the last week, we're talking dangerous levels of overproduction. Don't tell me that you haven't noticed how huge and swollen his balls have gotten! Fuck, after a few days of that, you must be able to hear those cum factories churning when you're laying in bed next to him! It's a miracle that he can get his jeans on over them and that he can focus while feeling, god, what must be gallons of the stuff sloshing inside them.
Now, it's not dangerous in the sense that he's due for any harm. The effects might linger for a little while and there may be some long-term swelling, but he's going to be fine. The danger comes from the fact that, when he's this full, he's got to be on a hair trigger. You've forced his body to make so much more cum than it was ever built to contain. It wants to relieve the pressure and it wants to do it now. I'm honestly surprised that you've managed to avoid bending over in front of him or flashing too much of your tits at him to make him unleash a flood of hot, white cum down the front of his pants.
You're lucky that you've managed to keep him going this long, but it's not going to last forever. His social media algorithms are going to show him a thirst trap at some point. He's going to accidentally come across a wildly inappropriate ad on an otherwise wholesome website. A movie he's watching is going to have an unexpected sex scene. The point is that something is going to set him off and, if you're not quick about this, it won't be you. So now's the time. If you want your belly to be bloated like a condom, swollen and round and jiggling with an ocean of jizz inside it, you have to act fast. Don't wait any longer than you have to. Pin him down, if you must. Now isn't the time for foreplay; he isn't going to need it. You said you wanted to be cumflated, after all. Painting your tits in the stuff, however exciting that would be, isn't what you want. Do what you need to do to get him inside you. Once he is, you won't have to wait long. Your womb won't know what hit it.
I've been pumping my tits and taking lactation pills because my boyfriend loves the kink. My milk has come in just fine but the issue I'm running into now is if I don't keep pumping my tits slowly shrinking even smaller than before. I can't be flat as a board what do I do? Maybe I should quadruple the pill intake and what else?
You know, I've seen this a lot, actually. The whole shrinking deal is, admittedly, fairly rare, but a lot of people miss a crucial step in their journey towards growing their tits and making them slosh with milk.
It's a commitment.
Lactating, being a hucow, isn't something that you can just put on casually. You can't hop back and forth between being one and not being one. It's a bit like becoming a bimbo. If you really commit to it, and you do need to commit to it, then it becomes more of a lifestyle than a kink! You're just learning that lesson a bit more harshly than most. If you weren't ready to commit to being a full-time cow, to making more and more milk with each passing day, to outgrowing bras and shirts and turning even the most chaste clothing lewd with your huge, milky udders, then you shouldn't have started.
Now that you have, though, it doesn't seem like you can stop.
The only way you can avoid going completely flat chested is to just keep going bigger. Quadrupling your pill intake will definitely speed up the process, but it's never going to fully stave off the inevitability of what will happen if you stop. All you can do now is embrace being a cow and let it consume your life.
It will, slowly, a little more each day. Your tits will grow, taking up more of your attention and focusing more attention on you. They'll become the center of your outfit, the center of your personality. When people look at you, they'll start thinking of your huge, bouncy milkers more than the rest of you. They'll think of your deep cleavage, of your wobbling flesh, of your tight tops and overworked bras. They'll just see you as a pair of tits, a pair of massive, engorged udders.
It'll take up more of your life, too. Every day, you'll make more milk and more milk means more time spent pumping it all out. You'll go from one long session in the evening, to two shorter ones before bet and after getting up, to three sprinkled throughout the day. You'll be slipping off to the bathroom to emergency milk yourself when you forget and the tightness and soreness in your swollen tits had to remind you of what you really are. You'll milk yourself to relieve the ache but also to keep from getting any smaller. You don't want to be flat chested, so your only option is to become huge and milky and bigger, endlessly bigger. Fairly soon, you'll start planning your life around when you can milk. Can't go see that movie, gotta rush home to milk. It'll be humiliating to come late to a meeting that you rescheduled, but you didn't anticipate just how much longer it would take to drain your udders. How much longer after that will it be before you just give up entirely and surrender to your life as a cow? If you stop, your huge udders will go all the way away, and you can't have that.
You didn't realize the full extent of the journey you were starting when you started it, but now it's too late to go back. You're on the path towards being a full-time cow with gargantuan, life-defining udders. If you try to stop, you'll lose everything. Just do your best to have fun with it. I'm sure your boyfriend will.
Here! A Small Magical plug that continuously grows your bust the longer its in! Of course, it ALSO grows just a bit more. The magic makes you perfectly stretchy, the MOST you get is mild inconvenience at weird angles.
But it all goes away when you take it out. And it's a LOT to put in, cause it's size never changes. You grow to a 6 inch toy and Z cups? Well. You'll get the Z cups back as soon as you put the plug back in!
Comes in a Dildo and Butt-Plug variant!
I slid the (now over-sized) butt plug back in, as my original 'Barely There' B-cup breasts surge forward and fill with excess silicone once more.
I'd worn it for almost three hours yesterday when it arrived, leaving it to swell to more than double its original size inside of me, "I still don't know how this thing even fit inside me the first time... or how I managed to get it back in again!" but (after it pumped my formerly petite chest with enough silicone to make dozens of data center chips) I was able to remove it, and cause my newly acquired L-cup(?) breasts to deflate back down...
But I couldn't stop thinking about them...
How big they looked in everything I owned...
How heavy they were, filled with obscene levels of silicone...
How smooth and almost doll-like they made my skin and body look...
"Another hour or two couldn't hurt... I'll j-just, pull it out again before it gets too much. I can totally control my own urges!"
Hey boss. I'm in a bit of a predicament. I'm living on my own for the first time, and I share my apartment with a roommate.
Now, that's not too bad. Lots of guys have roommates. But I doubt they're roommates with the hottest woman they've ever seen in their life.
Like, words cannot begin to describe her. She's got tits bigger than her head, an ass that seems to bend space, and legs that could turn a monk into a drooling mess.
Basically, she's super duper hot.
And again, most guys wouldn't see the issue in that. But they've never had to deal with every argument, disagreement, discussion, etc, ending in a wiggle of tit-flesh and me folding instantly.
I literally can't say no to her when she does that. I don't think anyone can.
What am I supposed to do, GO? I've been mad to do every chore, pay just about every bill, do every whim she can come up with.
I hear you, man. That's a tough situation. Most people, they'd tell you to stand up for yourself, to stop being such a pathetic loser gooner and resist her jiggling and sloshing pornmelons for five fucking seconds. They'd tell you that, if you have an open and honest conversation with her, one that doesn't end in you running back to your bedroom to try and get your fist pregnant, it'll all work out.
And I just want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, that they're all wrong.
This kind of thing, standing up for yourself would only encourage her! Saying "H-hey, um, m-maybe don't flash your big, bouncy titties at m-me when I'm trying to t-talk to you!" is only going to make things worse! She'll start walking around the apartment topless, or as close to it as she has to, in order to make sure you never try to resist her again! She already knows she can break you—can't put that lotion back in the bottle—so she'll just keep going until she breaks you again.
If you really want to get control of this situation, there's only one thing you can do: fight fire with fire.
You go out there and you get yourself the biggest fucking tits you can. Implants or growth pills or bovine hormones, whatever it takes to give you gigantic titties to rival hers. I'm talking mega hyper stuffed up milkers. I'm talking jumbo jiggly juicy jugs. I'm talking sweater-stretching, gravity-welling, bra-busting tits!
The first benefit is that your new tits will act as a sort of immunization against hers. When you're too busy not getting distracted by your own cleavage, by the feeling of your own tits bouncing directly under your chin, how can you even think about being distracted by hers? If you can go even bigger than her, all the better, as it'll make hers seem smaller by comparison, thereby robbing them of their power. Once her advantage is weakened and, eventually, removed entirely, that's when you can stage your counteroffensive.
After all, everyone loves boobs.
When she starts to fall on her old tactics, that's when you yawn and stretch your back, pushing your massive titties forward so she can see them bulge over the cups and under the band and whenever else they can find room. If she shows you her cleavage, you show her yours. If she tries to jiggle them in your face, you jiggle yours right back! If she tries to press her big, soft boobies against you, you lean into her, keeping eye contact as your own udders squish against her. Her breathing catches. You blush. Your faces are so close to each other and, as your tits squish together, you can feel each other's racing heartbeat. Neither of you seems ready to make the first move and yet, inch by inch, the space between your lips disappears until—
Ahem. Anyway. Worst case scenario, you both keep trying to outdo and outsize each other. Best case scenario, you make out sloppy style while groping each other and rubbing your oiled up titties together. Wins all around.
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I recently started participating in a clinical trial to increase my breast size, and it’s been going great! I started at a C cup, and in a month I’ve already grown to an E cup! There is one issue I guess… the ‘sensitivity’ side effect is really kicking my ass. Whether it’s a bra or a t-shirt, anything rubbing against my nipples drives me crazy! Someone brushed against me on the bus the other day and I nearly came…
Come on, now. Be honest. I know that you love it. However distracting it may be, you can't get enough of how sensitive your growing breasts are becoming. This is what you wanted, to some degree. You wouldn't sign up for that kind of clinical trial if you didn't have size greed to some degree. Most women would be overjoyed to be a C-cup, but you couldn't help yourself. You wanted bigger. You wanted more. Being merely average was never going to be enough for you, so much so that you literally signed up for an experimental drug to try and force you to grow even larger. What was it, hm? Is there a busty coworker that you see every day, straining her blouse and making you seethe with envy? Did you catch your ex-boyfriend eyeing up a woman absolutely bursting out of her sports bra while she jogged down the street? Maybe it was a best friend who was on even footing with you when you met and then blossomed into being gigantic, leaving you in her dust without even trying? Regardless of the reason why, that greed pushes you onward, drives you to not just be big, but always bigger, always more, always growing!
The increased sensitivity might not be exactly what you signed up for, but I know you love it. What better way to be reminded how big you've gotten than to have constant, pulsing pleasure radiating out from your huge, sensitive tits? You can't escape them, even for a moment. Every bounce, every wobble, every accidental squish sends a jolt directly to your core to remind you how much you've grown. You're still getting used to their size, too, how far they extend out in front of you. You must be brushing them against things all the time, whether that's countertops or door frames or even people. Some of them are accidental, certainly, but I doubt all of them are. Don't tell me you're not stuck on that crowded bus, feeling every pothole as it bounces through your gigantic tits, trying to make the pressure you're putting on the back of the person in front of you seem accidental as you rub your tits against them. Every little spark of pleasure is enough to remind you of how big you've grown, painfully aware of your gargantuan bust every moment of every day. And it's only going to get more intense as you grow larger.
You're already picturing it, aren't you?
You're already fantasizing about the diving bliss that comes from having tits big enough to cover your torso, trapped in bed underneath them as you grab and grope and knead and squeeze the massive mounds, moaning in erotic bliss. The team running the trial keeps trying to call you, but you just hold the vibrating phone against your nipples to wring yet another in a long line of countless orgasms out of your body. You don't know what day it is, let alone what time it is or how long you've been there. You barely know your own name. All you know is that your tits are colossal and that's all that's ever mattered.
Full week of pumping you full of progesterone, fenugreek, blessed thistle, and keeping you locked in an industrial strength milking station. You'll wake up in a week still locked in the machine, the keys to your freedom a foot out of your reach below you... sat in a small bowl at the bottom of a bucket with a single small hole on the side of it. The milk pumped from your tits will pour out into the bucket. You'll have ample food and water available, and a daily dose of everything that helps boost your milk production. You only get out when you produce milk fast enough to make the bowl float high enough in the bucket to reach. And when the milk fills the bucket halfway you'll have to outpace the rate that the milk drains through that hole.
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...
The slamming of the bathroom door and the thunk of the lock still ring in your ear and, over the din, the command completely fails to register in your brain. Everything has changed so quickly. One moment, you were out on the con floor, admiring a variety of cosplays. Then, the world blurred around you as you were dragged across the hall by a single, strong hand. Now, you find yourself trapped in the bathroom, memories of their gigantic tits bouncing—nearly right out of their costume—still playing in your mind. As the cosplayer stares at you, expectantly, the words finally make it through the haze. Unfortunately for you, you're not entirely sure what they mean. "What, uh..."
Your thought is cut short as they reach out and grab you by the chin, squeezing your cheeks together. "Hey! Focus! I need you to milk me! You like boobs, right? I saw you checking me out earlier. It's okay, I'm not mad, or at least I won't be if you fucking milk me! R-right fucking n-now!"
Their jaw sets in a grimace and their hand moves up to their chest. The blush rushing into your cheeks betrays the fact that you clearly weren't as sneaky as you thought you had been earlier, the embarrassment only compounding as you realize just how much their tits have grown since then. Or, more accurately, how much they've engorged. You swallow in a vain attempt to wet your suddenly dry throat. "H-how did this happen?"
The cosplayer rolls their eyes. "I got a little carried away with the attention, okay? You weren't the only one staring at my huge udders and, frankly, the attention feels good! But I got distracted and now I don't have time to go back up to my room and use my pumps. One of the hazards of being a hucow cosplayer. Long story short, I need your help and I need it now! Fuck!" They cry out in frustration and your eyes widen in shock as a pair of damp spots start to form on the front of their costume, soaking through the white fabric. Immediately, their hand moves to the zipper trapped underneath their tits. A sharp tug does nothing but send wobbles through their immense bust. Another one does the same. They look to you with sharp eyes. "Can you please, just—"
Your mind has finally caught up with what's going on and so you spring into action, letting them lift their bust while you pull down on the zipper. It doesn't budge on the first pull, but on the second: FWUMP! A pair of huge, full tits come tumbling out, milk already leaking and dripping from their swollen nipples. You're only given a second to admire them, so much bigger than when you first saw them earlier this morning, before the cosplayer's hands reach up, grab the sides of your head, and pull you down to their chest. Any protest you might have made is muffled by their nipple slipping between your lips, the massive tit squishing against your face. Milk rushes in and floods your mouth. Your eyes flutter at the taste as you turn to look up at the cosplaying cow in front of you.
"DRINK!"
Immediately, you start guzzling the stuff down. Moans echo off the walls of the small bathroom. Swallow after swallow drags warm, rich milk down your throat and into your stomach. Their hands tense, grabbing handfuls of your hair on the back of your head. Their legs wobble, but they manage to stay standing, however just. Your tongue laps against the gushing nub, but there's another nipple that needs attention. You reach up and cup their other udder, feeling the softness and size overwhelm your hand. As you pinch and tug on their nipple, milk spurts out and another moan is pulled from their throat. "Yes, fuck, yes! Oh, fuck, keep going! Just like that! Don't fucking stop! I—"
There's a knock on the door and, in an instant, their expression changes from erotic euphoria to one of anger and fury. "HEY! OCCUPIED!"
Once they're sure the person at the door is gone, they turn their attention back towards you. "I didn't tell you to stop, did I?! You're doing great, but that doesn't mean you're done! I've got so much fucking milk and you're going to drain me of every last drop, got it?!" You nod your head, making the tit still between your lips shake and wobble. The cosplayer smiles. "Good. Do a good job and I'll let you do this to me tomorrow and again on Sunday! You'll be my personal milker! If you do a really good job, well, maybe I'll be generous and take you back to my room. I wasn't planning on wearing my cow print bikini as a cosplay, but maybe I can show it to you. But you have to show me how good you are at draining my udders first."
Ever hear about werecows? Normal gals (or guys) by day, but when the moon rises.... they turn into milky hucows, who need nothing more than to relieve the ache in their chest, and spread their "gift" through their tainted milk.
I'd be careful around dark alleys at night, you never know when you may hear a stray moo... before getting a handful of flesh stuffed in your mouth, and feeling the warm trickle of the milk take over your whole body... soon, you're mooing too...
A primal drumbeat pounded inside Caitlin's head. The silvery light of the full moon burned on the inside of her eyelids and the heat coursed through her body. Her heart raced. Sweat glistened on her skin. Deep, gasping breaths made her chest rise and fall, straining her top. She didn't understand what was happening to her; she just knew that something wasn't right. She felt so hot. Her hands clawed at her chest, trying to get at least a little air under the shirt that clings to her body, matted in place as her sweat soaked through it. The dryness in her throat urged her to her feet and she stumbled awkwardly and haphazardly towards the fridge.
Caitlin nearly collapsed in front of it, leaning on the door for support. The cool air wafted over her skin as her eyes frantically scanned for something, anything to drink. Her body was so damn hot. Tremors shook her hand as she grabbed a bottle of water, slamming it back. As soon as it hit her tongue, she coughed and sputtered and spat it out. God, it was awful. It felt thin on her tongue, her body rejecting the lack of flavor. A can of soda wasn't any better, too cloyingly sweet. As soon as the jug of milk caught her eye, her whole body froze.
The tremors in her hand were gone as she reached out for it, entranced, and screwed off the cap. The scent of it hit her nose and her eyes fluttered. She raised the jug toward her lips and began to drink. The taste set fireworks off behind her eyes, pleasure coursing through her. This was what she wanted. This was what she needed. This was... strangely familiar.
Her eyes shot open and memories rushed in on her.
That night had almost completely faded from Caitlin's memory, just a few weeks ago. Suddenly, she remembered the cool streetlights buzzing overhead on her walk home. She remembered the quiet murmurs of mooing echoing down the alleyways. She remembered the softness and the motion of those huge tits, those massive udders, and the cow they belonged to. Most of all, though, she remembered the milk. Rich and creamy and thick as it poured down her throat, the milk filled her stomach and the cow just couldn't stop making it.
The emptying of the jug brought Caitlin slamming back into the moment. She looked at the empty container and tossed it aside. Slowly, as she turned over the memories of that night in her mind, her gaze drifted down to her chest.
Holy fucking shit, she was huge!
Caitlin's boobs had always been big—generous D cups to the admiration and jealous of her friends—now they were fat and heavy and swollen, bulging out of the cups of her bra and straining her shirt to the point of transparency. Every inhale made them seem larger, but breathing out didn't make them go back down! With great effort, her tits swelling all the while, she tried to get her shirt off and hoist one of her tits out of her bra. Her nipple, swollen and stiff, quivered in the air from the fridge. Nervously, she pinched it between her fingers and pulled.
"OOUUUGGHHNNNNN!"
A moan, frighteningly cow-like, trumpeted from her throat as her head shot back. Milk arced from the nipple, spraying in front of her. As if in response to the release, Caitlin's tits started to swell even faster. As arousal and need flooded her brain, a single word managed to bubble up to the top of the swirling, pink goop: werecow!
Instinctively, Caitlin knew what she was, what she had become. New instincts, rushed in on her, too. She tugged on her nipples in a steady rhythm as her body naturally knew how best to milk itself. Her eyes crossed and her tongue lolled out, all sorts of lewd noises rising from her throat. She should have been frightened. She should have been terrified. The pleasure, however, was far too great to even think of fear. All she could think of was making milk and a singular, predatory need for her roommate to get home as soon as possible.
I am a 23yo lesbian pale skinned woman named Amalga and I'm the current host of a familial curse. This curse is known as the "Succubus's trap" amongst my family and every 18 years after the previous host dies (it belonged to my great aunt Mira previously) it selects a new blood related woman of the family to possess and for the past 5 years I've been its host and i... love it. I've always been a lesbian and a side-effect of the curse is infertility so none of the family bothers caring if I'll have kids or not but that's not everything it does. This so called curse feels practically made for me because it converts love, lust, debauchery, drugs, cum, masturbating, and everything else to do with sinfulness and converts it all into growth and vitality making me grow taller, stronger, more sexually alluring, and my tits, mmm~ my fat fucking tits, getting bigger~ which is a major "problem" because I am a complete and total growth addicted slut so I have no qualms with feeding the curse as if it was my job 24/7.~
I'm gonna be honest, Amalga: I'm still waiting for you to describe anything you've said so far as a curse! It sounds to me like you've pretty much got it made! All of your favorite things, all the vices that are so easy to embrace, just become fuel for even more sin and sensuality!
Maybe that's why the curse sought you out to possess. For god knows how long, members of your family had been fighting it. Your great aunt Mira, I'm sure, did her best to be a good, chaste, godly woman and resist the temptations that the curse gave her. So it was for all the women in your family that bore the 'curse', going back to the very first. Chastity and abstention, moderation and asceticism, anything to keep their body, mind, and soul pure and clean from the corruption that coursed through their veins. While the challenge might be entertaining for the first few generations, a curse that powerful is bound to get bored before too long.
Then came you.
You were the perfect host for a curse bored by resistance. It knew, even before it properly took hold of you, that you would be different from your ancestors. Great aunt Mira lived the life of a cloistered nun so that she'd never grow more than a few cup sizes, more than a foot in height. The curse would have no such trouble with you. The moment you got your first taste of pleasure, the moment you first felt your body grow and expand and enhance, you'd be addicted.
Now the curse barely has to work at all! You don't need to be tempted. If anything, the curse is perhaps a little ashamed. Even if couldn't imagine the kinds of debauchery a ruined mind like yours could come up with. All it has to do is force your body to grow as you lay back, stoned out of your mind, and an orgy forms around you, a woman suckling on each gargantuan tit, a third between your colossal thighs, and a fourth riding your tongue. Every moment of your life has been surrendered to pleasure of all kinds, rotting your brain out with porn while a vibrator buzzes between your thighs in your idle moments, each orgasm causing you to grow in every direction. Your breast pumps barely fit over your swollen, growing nipples anymore, but that doesn't stop you from turning them on anyway, desperate for any scrap of pleasure you can find.
Where it ends, who can say? You're so young! You've had this curse for five long years, but you have decades of debauchery and growth ahead of you. If you think your tits are big now, just wait after you've had another five years to get worse, get more addicted to pleasure, get more addicted to growing them as big as you can! And the bigger you get, the easier it'll be to submerge yourself in sin. When you're a towering goddess with tits big enough to completely cover your torso, sculpted by the curse into a divine beauty, you'll have no trouble adding more women to your harem, more women to help you get high and help you cum again and again and again.
After generations, the curse has someone who gets it. It can finally show the true extent of its abilities.
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The first time it happened, that you can remember, you were relaxing on the couch, half watching tv and half scrolling on your phone, a bowl of snacks slowly being picked away at. When you felt wetness building inside you, it felt odd, but not concerning. You figured it must be a heavier cleaning than normal, and didn't think much of it, even as you felt the wetness soak into your underwear. It wasn't much, maybe a milliliter of extra fluid that stained them a creamy white. Nothing too strange or alarming.
The next time it happened, you weren't even aware of it at first, you were in the middle of having your back blown out by a friend, late one Friday night, but when they finally pulled out, the condom hanging limp off their softening cock, you were a little afraid it'd broken or leaked somehow. You were just a little too wet, and leaking just a little too much cum colored fluid. But, when you confirmed the condom was intact, you chalked it up to being turned on.
The third time, you noticed it right away. It felt different than the first time, there was more, a lot more. You could feel it oozing out and soaking through your panties. The worst part of it was that you were in the middle of work, in a meeting and had to fight through the hot liquid cooling as it squeezed through the fabric and soaked your thighs a little. As soon as you could, you ran to the bathroom and wiped it off your underwear and from around your thighs.
The fourth time, you weren't even awake, but when you woke to your alarm beeping, the first thing you felt was how incredibly wet you were. You soaked clean through your clothes and a puddle had formed under you. Your first thought was that somehow you'd been drugged and someone had broken in to have their way with you, but you didn't feel anything else, no soreness, no stiffness, just wet and leaking.
And then one day, it was nearly constant, the entire day you were dripping, soaking through multiple pairs of underwear and pants. Even putting a tampon in only helped a little. A week later, it happened again and didn't let up for three days straight. After this, you started always wearing pantyliners, and when those started to fail, wearing full coverage pads, just to keep it from constantly dripping down your thighs.
You went to the doctor, and she said everything looked normal, no signs of trauma, your hormone levels were normal, and she couldn't find any evidence of what could be causing this.
The next time, you felt something. Walking through the grocery store, you were suddenly stopped dead in your tracks as you felt something press against your cervix for a few seconds, and then start battering away at it. You had to stifle your shocked screams, dropping your basket and rushing to the bathroom as fast as you could. Yanking down your pants and underwear, you saw nothing out of the ordinary, even though the thing was still pounding against your cervix. Through the panic and fear, a little part of you really liked how it felt. Whatever was going on, it felt good, even though it was terrifying and so sudden. This little part of you grew louder as the minutes passed, and your muffled screams of fear were slowly but surely becoming stifled moans. And then with one final push, you feel whatever it is press just a little further in, and hot wetness fills you in rapid spurts. As the assault on your senses finally stops, you stagger to your feet, breathing hard, and pull up your pants. You feel it then, the still hot slickness soaking into your pad. You stumble from the stall and make your way home, shopping totally forgotten.
That was about a week ago, and nothing like it has happened since. The random feeling of wetness hasn't stopped, but nothing has found its way inside you. That is, until today.
Sitting on a train, heading to meet up with some out of town friends, you settle in for the ride, expecting it to take a while. They invited you to dinner and then probably clubbing after, so you wore a nicer, if rather revealing, outfit. A skirt that comes down to just above mid thigh, a crop top loosely held down over your chest with a multi-color pair of suspenders attached to your skirt, fishnets that hug your thighs and calves tight enough to squeeze them through the small squares of the pattern, and a jacket that doesn't really do much more than cover your shoulders and arms. The train isn't too crowded, your friends came to town on an off day, and it's not even close to rush hour, so there's maybe a dozen people in the train car. Some cast furtive glances your way, but most are focused on their phones or conversations with their friends.
You're also focused on your phone when you feel something massive slide into you. You let out a startled gasp, loud enough a couple of people nearby look up, unsure of where the noise came from, but you clap a hand over your mouth as the intruder pushes even deeper. You try to stifle your surprise, but it's hard. The thing is enormous and just keeps pushing deeper. Fear floods your mind, it's happening again, but there nowhere to run. There's no bathroom to hide in on this commuter train, you're in one of the longest stretches between stops, and if even you try to move seats, there will be someone within earshot, or worse yet, in direct view of you.
These thoughts all flash through in a split second as the thing still pushes deeper. You can feel it better now, it's thick and stretches your walls wide, the head, because there's nothing else it could be but the head of a cock, is even wider, with nubs that extend the flare out even further. But it's not flat, there is a noticeable lump that rises in the middle as it presses against your cervix.
You try to keep your breathing under control, but it won't stop pushing deeper. You squirm in your seat, your legs shaking and your hands gripping your thighs until the tips of your fingers turn white. You can feel the shaft now, it's not quite as thick as the head, but the most horrifying thing is what you feel next. What you thought was someone's sick joke of using a horse cock shaped toy through... whatever it is they did to you, is shattered when you feel the veins running up the length of the shaft throb. The fear you were experiencing turns to abject dread.
When the thing finally stops, you brace for the pounding you're about to receive, but nothing happens. It sits there for a few seconds before, just as quickly as it entered, it withdraws. It slides past the entry point, and your grip on your thighs loosens as the seconds pass without it reappearing. When ten, then fifteen seconds pass, you start to think maybe you're just going crazy or maybe whoever or whatever is somehow doing this to you is torturing you by entering you unbidden and brazenly announcing, "I could do it if I wanted". Another fifteen seconds pass, and your dread is slowly turning to incandescent rage. It begins to burn a hole in your heart when with incredible suddenness it reappears in one blindingly fast instant. You don't even have time to react as the massive flared head slams into your cervix hard enough to lift you off your seat and hold you there for a second before pulling back out and slamming back in.
Your arms and legs scramble to brace yourself against the force of the blows. Your feet find purchase in the steel bench supports in front of you, while one hand is flung back over the seat and you latch onto the top with a death grip. Your other hand once again slaps over your mouth as you attempt to cover the babble of noises escaping you. Other turns again, but only briefly glance at you before turning away. Your whole body shakes as the pounding continues. And as the minutes pass, the feeling of it fucking up into slowly erodes your will. You feel so full, and its pace is so incredibly consistent that you can't help but enjoy it a little bit. After another five or six minutes, your head lolls back, and your hand grips the seat. On one tight turn of the train, your head falls sideways and you make direct eye contact with a woman you didn't see before, sitting across the aisle. She stares at you with shock and horror on her face, but when her eyes drift downward, you regain control of your head for long enough to look down, past your bouncing chest and at your belly. What you see is beyond shocking, beyond impossible, but as clear as can be in the brightly lit train, is the outline of the thing that's pounding up into you.
You tentatively reach one hand down to the thing as it slides in and out, never fully leaving you, and grip the shaft. The pounding sensation falters for a second, then stops all together, the head still half way pulled out. With your fear almost entirely lost behind the fog of pleasure, you bring your other hand down and grip the thing as best you can, sliding your hands up and down. Slowly, the thing pushes in again, as if unsure what is going on. But soon, its relentless pace picks back up, and you stop stroking and switch to gripping it with all your might. You can tell whatever it is enjoys it, because the strokes become shorter and shorter until your body is being bounced so rapidly it feels like your driving over a washboard road at high speed. Your head falls to the side, and you make eye contact with the woman again. The look in her eyes is different now. You smile weakly at her, but she just stares at you.
When you feel the thrusts reaching a peak, you squeeze down on the bulge even harder, and are rewarded when it starts to swell for a second, before flooding you with seed. You don't even care what it is anymore, animal or monster or some lifelike toy, the feeling of being so full and only filled more is too enjoyable to worry about anything else. Your grip loosens on the throbbing thing, and at first your hazy mind thinks you're passing out, but looking down, you see whats happening. The outline is almost totally obscured now as more and more of its seed is forced inside. By the time the flood becomes a trickle, you're as round as a prize-winning melon.
You barely feel the thing slip out, but when it does, you miss it immediately. You can feel the still hot mess dripping into your underwear, and by the time you've reached your stop, the pad is completely soaked through, and it drips down your thighs, soaking your fishnets as it slides down. You stand up, staggering to the door, eyes still locked with the woman. You see something new in her eyes now, you're not sure, but it could be arousal or it could be jealousy. You smile and wink at her. Her already red face blushes even brighter as you turn and get off the train.
You've arrived early, thankfully, and have plenty of time to clean up before dinner. Any sane person would probably be freaking out by now, but your sense of self preservation has taken a beating and you don't really care any more. It felt too good to worry about, so you don't. You find a bathroom, and wobble in on unsteady legs. You sit down, and let the cum filling you drip out over the next few minutes, and then take to pressing down your swollen belly when the flow drops. By the time your friends are texting you that they're nearby, you're almost back to normal. The night flies by with no more extreme intrusions, but maybe a dozen or so loads appear inside you over the hours you spend out, but nothing noticeable from the outside. You have fun, you dance, you have a few drinks and catch up with your friends. A wonderful night, though part of you quietly wishes another monster would find its way inside you.
When you step on the train, you're an extra thirty minutes further down the line from where you got off. The train is empty except for a handful of people, mostly tired looking office workers and a couple of college aged kids quietly tucked together in the back. However, two stops later, the train floods with people, packing themselves in so tight you barely have room to move. At the next stop, the crowd parts long enough for several older people carrying small suitcases to make their way to the row of seats you're in. You stand, swaying with the last of the cocktails still swimming through your veins, and let them sit. By the time the train begins to move again, you're pinned between people and pushed into a corner, back to the wall. Your still tipsy brain recognizes sports jerseys, the bright colors mixed in with the more subdued colors of coats and jackets. As the ride continues, more people get on, the train passing through three stops all surrounded by pubs.
It's getting hot inside the train with so many people, and you struggle to find any space when someone presses into you, their back to your chest. They a bit taller than you, with long black hair down below their shoulders and a somewhat familiar looking outfit on. It's not until the next stop when the crowd briefly eases itself in do they manage to turn around before the car fills even tighter, and before you can even react, your face is buried in their chest.
You try to break free, but the car is getting tighter by the second, when the doors finally close, your bodies are pressed together so tightly, you can feel their heartbeat, their breathing, every little shift in stance. You manage to crane your neck free of their chest, and look up, about to apologize when you lock eyes. It's her, the woman from the ride out. You look at her in shock, and see it reflected back at you. She's wearing an over sized black shirt, which you realize now is basically draped over chest. Her breasts are huge, big enough that they engulf your face even as you struggle to look up at her. You can feel her belly pressed against your body, she's well filled out and you can't help but enjoy the feeling of being so close to her. And she smells really good, a subtle floral scent mixes with the light scent of sweat from her breasts. You smile sheepishly up at her, and she grins awkwardly down at you. You make a joke about running into her, and both of you chuckle, but it is abruptly cut off when you shut your mouth with a loud clack.
Making its way inside you is something wholly new and terrifying. A swirling, writhing thing is pushing its way up, and you can both feel it. It's thicker than the cock from before, but smoother, no bumps or ridges, just a slightly flared head ending it a soft, but firm, rounded tip. But the way it moves is sickening. The length of it seems to rotate like spinning a string in midair, the shaft moving outward while the head stays in places. You struggle against it, squirming against the woman trying to escape, but there's no where to go.
It only continues to dance and spin and twirl inside you. But thatís not all it does. It swells and contracts over and over, pressing hard into her belly, and stretching you wider than ever before. Then it begins to send a thick knot-like thing up the shaft until it reaches the tip, and then sucks it back down, a baseball sized orb traveling up the tentacle and down over and over again. And then it splits into two, then three, then four thinner parts and moves them all independently, battering at your cervix and walls as if each has a mind of its own. You stare up at the woman's face helplessly, and she stares down with apologetic sorrow in her eyes.
When you feel it suddenly getting thicker and thicker, panic begins to outweigh the pleasure. After just a few seconds, it triples from the original thickness, and you can feel it pushing up and out, though the woman's chest blocks your view. It slides in and out like this for a couple stops, the train never getting any less packed. By the second stop, your arms are locked around the woman hips, desperate to stay standing. Her arms, however, have wrapped around your back, and are hugging you tight to her belly. You look up into her eyes and see the fear and sorrow replaced with pure lust. She's spellbound by the feel of the thing bulging your belly out and pressing into her. Her eyes start to glaze over and mouth hangs open, a little trail of drool slips from the corner of her mouth, joining the sweat glistening on her skin.
Another stop goes by, and the thing only gets thicker, filling you more and more, making it harder to think for both of you. And then, suddenly it stops growing, and you feel something new. Tendrils slide down and past the usual entry point, just above your vulva, but you can feel them move all the way down now. You start squirming again as you feel the thing press against your underwear and then the sudden snap as the elastic around your waist breaks and it falls to the floor. Your arms grab tighter around the woman hips, your hands sinking deep into her ample flesh. When one small tentacle latches onto your clit and begins to vibrate, suck, and spin tiny little nubs against it, your legs almost give out, but still, the woman holds you tight against herself.
But she can't feel the thing slipping out from between your legs, not until somehow makes its way through the fabric of her pants and begins to slide up. When it does, her head suddenly drops toward yours, and she starts whispering in your ear. "Its sucking a-and an- and doing something to my clit. It feels so good is this what it's doing to you? I love it I love it I love it". Her hips start bucking in the confined space, and her whispers become incoherent babbling as you feel it repeat exact what it did to you, through her body. It swells, and twists, and sends that knot up and down, and you feel it all. The monster has you two locked together now, and before you know it, it's thrusting its thick tentacles inside both of you. Your arms are aching, your hips are bucking against each other, and your moans are getting too hard to stifle. Without even needing to speak your lips find the other and your tongues swirl together in time with the tentacle's movement. Your moan are mostly suppressed on the crowded train, the rumble of the wheels and the grumbling of the fans drowns out the few that escape. Some people look at you two with mild disgust, but they can't see whats really going on. They only see two people, locked in an intimate embrace on a way-crowded train, but neither of you notice.
It's not until you feel the cold press of the slime creeping up from your pants do either of you break away. The pause is brief enough to see that the train is completely empty, and both of you are far from your intended stops. As the coolness slowly crawls up your bulging bellies, you stagger to a bench and flop down, watching as the other's belly is stretched by the strange thing linking you. Soon though, it's reached your chests, somehow removing your bras without even unhooking or snapping them. And a thin layer of it spreads out over your breasts, and begins to massage them. Like a living shirt, it encompasses them in an undulating layer of slime that tugs and pulls on your breasts while sucking and swirling around your nipples. And though you're both exhausted, you still find the strength to climb onto her lap, and press your bodies together again, your lips instinctively finding their other's.
When you finally reach the end of the line, both of you are spread eagle on the seat, the slime still moving at full force, still latch led onto your clits and nipples as it fucks up into you. When the announcement to leave comes, you both stagger to your feet, leaning in each other for support and stumble your way out. The thing seems to know how far it can stretch if you move away, and it tugs you back together if you move too far apart, anything more than about eight inches. Somehow, you manage to pull out your phone and call a ride to her place, the closest to the last stop. You struggle to hide the bulges as you climb into the back of the car, but the driver barely even acknowledges you. And so the two of you sit half on top of each other, the pounding gets more frantic and it pulls way from your breasts and clits, focusing entirely on fucking both of you. Your moans are barely audible through clenched teeth, and the driver looks back at you with annoyance before muttering something about "god damn perverts" and ìif I didnít need the moneyî before turning up the music.
As the slime's movements get faster and faster, you can feel it swelling, and getting firmer. It doesn't feel like the slime is simply shifting fluid around inside itself to give the illusion of hip movement, now it is sliding back and forth, driving up into both of you.
Faster and faster it goes, until you feel another thick knot-like thing sliding up the length, and you watch as the bulge of of it travels up the other's body before it reaches the tip and leaves with a thump you feel more than hear. And immediately after that, you feel it unleash a torrent of fluid that quickly swells your bellies to enormous sizes, big enough to reach the back of the driver's seat, before slipping out of her, and withdrawing from you completely, leaving a thick mass of something jiggling in your bellies.
For the rest of the ride, you sit and stroke other's belly, feeling the heat radiating outward. When you finally exit the car, the driver barely waits for you to get out before tearing down the street, tires squealing. You two waddle inside, and flop into the bed. It's a little two small for two people and your swollen stomachs, but you snuggle in together and quickly fall asleep.
