Milk - An Experiment

"That really isn't something I have any interest in," is what she initially had said when I first brought up training her body to produce milk. Of course, what she meant to say was that really wasn't something she'd ever considered. I know this for a fact, because I knew her better than she knew herself. That's why I didn't take her thoughts or opinions into consideration, and began to turn her into my milk-making whore anyway.

She didn't really know I was doing it. I didn't need her to know. It started with me just spending more time on her breasts. She thought I was extending our foreplay, which, to be fair, I was. But I loved imagining her innocence in the matter.

She is a good slave, one that I had trained fairly well, not only in the ways she wanted to be. Every good whore loves a good slap, but only the best whores take what they don't want, too. That's what keeps it from getting boring. After all, what is the point in training a dog to sit when the dog loves to rest? I wanted my bitch in heat to do the things she didn't fully want to do. That is how you know you've got a real good slave.

So I often made her do the things she didn't enjoy. She hated when I used to cum in her hair, so I started cumming on her forehead and purposefully letting it drip into her eyes. She hated that, so then by comparison, she loved it when I came in her hair, as it wasn't as bad as her eyes. Another example: she used to hate how I'd plunge my finger into her ass without warning, until I started using my prick instead. Now she welcomes the finger. It's smaller. And it warns her that something bigger will be coming later.

Bu, I knew that training her body to produce milk would be a very long, six month to a year, even, process. And, it makes me tingle inside to think she wouldn't even know I was doing it. She's always a step behind, always never fully realizing the extent of which I condition my whore. That was one of the most exciting things about it. The psychological games. Treating her like a little experiment. Making her mind and body into things she doesn't have a say in. That is what makes my cock twitch the hardest.

But yes, it started with longer foreplay. Every night, as was tradition, I would place her somewhere in some manner that was to my liking. Sometimes I'd keep her there with ropes, sometimes I'd just tell her to not move. If she moved, I would whip her. This gave her the freedom to decide how much pain she was willing to take, or how good and sweet of a doll she would be for me. And then, I would fondle her b-cup tits for 30 minutes to an hour. I'd hold them, grope them, squeeze, shake, mold, caress, hit, bite, sometimes even punch them. I would spend so much time on those tits that I could practically see them with my eyes closed. I could, with no debate, feel them in a line up of 20 other women's b-cup tits. And on the occasion that I would be so kind as to reach down and touch her cunt, she would be a complete disgusting sloppy wet mess.

She would be so sore. Day after day, all I would touch were her tits. When I was done, I would tit fuck her, and that was it. I wanted all her sexual energy to be focused there. I told her if she needed to cum, she better learn how to do it from me kneading her tits. Of course, she never did. But that was so much of the pleasure of it. She became needier and needier.

Things got more intense after the first month, this is when I began sucking. I think there were many moments that she came close to cumming, but I have to admit I took some pleasure in biting her pretty, sore, lovely little nipples. I would bite, she would flinch, and this would make her deeply appreciate when I would simply suck. I sucked with long and lasting pressures. I flicked my tongue and dripped saliva down her chest. Sometimes, if I had her properly tied up, I would suck her nipples for close to an hour. If she complained, the sucking would turn back into biting. To round things off, I would knead and grope her tits.

It was only a few months in that I noticed a change in her cup size. She felt fuller, and she reported that she felt more tender. I started fucking her again, too. She would cum on my dick so much more easily now. Sometimes, she'd flinch just from me reaching to pull on her nipples while I fucked her. She was so sore, but she was mine. I'd often think about those tits dripping while I fucked her. I loved the way her cunt would tighten around my cock when I would even just twist one of those sore, used up nipples.

This is about when I started sneaking hormones into her food and drink. I know what you might be thinking, isn't that too far? Where is the consent? You'd have to understand our relationship. Trust me, I know whats best for her. And what's best for her, is what's best for me. If my cock is happy, she is happy. That, and, her body is mine.

The value in it, to me, was not that I wanted to drink her milk, but that I wanted her to do it because I made her. I wanted, always, more control. To be able to make her tits swell and confuse her body into producing milk for me was just another way to do that. Plus, it was a beautifully feminine thing to imagine. My whore, who I could just snuggle next to at night, and use as a fuckhole in the morning, whose tits would leak with joy from my presence? I had to have this next stage of her evolution. I would bring it upon us.

The hormones did a lot, very quickly. Even she commented on how heavy her bosoms became. Her areolas became darker, puffier. The tissue swelled. All day, I would think about coming home and sucking on those tits again. I was obsessed. Maybe a month after I began sneaking hormones into her food, I noticed a new taste when I sucked hard enough. I hid this from her. But it fueled me. That warm, milky taste. It was unearthly, and it was all the better because I was the one who pushed her into it. I tricked her body, I molded her mind, and now I was on my way towards making her feel the humiliation of being my cow.

In silent celebration, I decided to give her tits a weekend break. A long weekend indeed. She was so addicted to this pleasure and pain combination, and it was incredibly alluring to watch her try and coyly seduce me into sucking them again. But I had a feeling that this weekend break would make a difference, and it did. By the end of the weekend, she was begging me to touch her breasts again. I told her I had a little surprise, and blindfolded her in our bedroom. She was no stranger to the blindfold, nor to the spread-eagle four-post bound vulnerable position she found herself in. She was, however, a stranger to the breast pumps I pulled out from the closet.

When I pressed the cold metal against her nipples, she squirmed. She'd asked what it was, and I ignored. I stood, for a moment, and admired how far I'd made her come. Her once b-cups were now full c, and her puffy nipples looked so healthy and motherly. Then, I powered the machine on. It began sucking, rhythmically, making her moan like an animal. I kept it on a soft, low setting. I watched it pull and release her flesh. I watched her writhe and yearn like a creature who'd just discovered pleasure. I pulled up a chair, pulled out my cock, and came over and over while watching. I came in her hair, on her stomach, on her legs, chest, mouth. And slowly, but surely, the droplets of milk dribbled out her nipples from the pulling of the pump. My little whore, I was so proud. She, too, surprised me, as I watched her little cunt twitch as she came from just having this machine milk her without her knowledge of it.

"Look whose making milk" I said. She said nothing. She laid there, moaned, squirmed, as by this point, she knew better than to ask questions. "Whore," I whispered into her ear. She writhed. I mounted her. I fucked her hard. I pulled the cup from one of her tits and sucked as I fucked her body. My body.