"Oh my god, guys, I'm so addicted to my girlfriend Melanie's breasts," Stacy said, exposing them for all the internet to see, shaking them.
"Hi everyone on Instagram..... Mom, dad, I hope you enjoy seeing what my girlfriend is doing to me."
"Come on, don't look so shy, babe. They look beautiful, and all your friends and family deserve to see what a good hucow you're becoming."
Melanie blushed. "Thank you.... I'm new to this, I guess. And well, to having such big breasts."
"New to showing everyone you know and love what a little slut you are? I know, quite the adjustment..... I'll help with that. For starters, making these gorgeous titties so big you can't hide them no matter what you wear."
"Fuck..... I can't believe they're already bigger than my head."
"And they probably have more brains in them than whatever qualifies in that dimwitted little cow head of yours, Mel. All of you should see how desperate Melanie is at parties. She grinds on girls and practically begs for them to hook up with her. I started dating her to see just how pathetic she truly was...."
Melanie's breaths trembled as Stacy squeezed a little milk out of her girlfriend's breasts. "I'm just a hopeless nympho hucow...."
"See? She's a fast learner for someone with the IQ of a barn animal. I'm going to have so much fun parading your daughter's massive tits all over the internet, and our university. Her only reputation will be as a subservient little girl-crazy nympho. Tell me, just how big should I force her breasts to get? Which reminds me, it's almost time for your injections."
"Oh no, please not in front of my family....."
Stacy took Melanie's phone, to keep filming. "What, you don't want them to see what kind of education all that student loan money is getting you? Now sit." Without an ounce of hesitation, Melanie got on her knees, looking up expectantly. "Beg." Melanie stuck out her tongue, panting and smiling, massaging her breasts, lifting them. "See, what a good girl."
"Please...." Melanie whimpered.
Stacy took out two syringes, setting one on the sink. The other she held in one hand, biting off the cap and spitting it out off to the side. "What do you want?"
"Bigger breasts...."
"Why do you want them?"
"I'm a pathetic hucow obsessed with getting girls' attention."
"That's what we like to hear." Stacy injected one breast, then took the second syringe, bit off the cap, did the same. "What do you say?"
"I hope you all don't block me. I hope you love seeing me grow such cartoonish boobs as all the girls in my sorority will humiliate and fuck me......" She moaned, holding her breasts as they appeared to visibly swell in her arms, dripping milk.
Stacy looked right into Melanie's phone. "Please feel free to comment below. All of Mel's family and friends. Tell me just how big this sweet nymphette's udders should get. Bye for now." She giggled and ended the stream.
So if good cows get milked, show us what bad cows get.
Well, it seems rather obvious to me.
If good cows get milked, then bad cows simply don't!
Not only are bad cows not milked, but they're forbidden from trying to relieve the pressure themselves. No pumps, no suckling, not even allowed to use their hands. And this lasts until the cow learns her lesson and learns to behave.
On the most basic level, this is effective because of the discomfort it causes. Cows are milked regularly. That's a big part of what makes them cows and one of the main reasons for having a cow is to have the milk they make. A cow's production becomes predicated on the predictable and familiar cadence of being milked, sometimes multiple times a day depending on how productive the cow is. The suspension of those milkings isn't felt right away, but once it starts, there's no stopping it. While the dull ache of fullness is familiar, this time there's no relief. The swelling and the tenderness only continue to grow as milk backs up inside her udders. As the pressure builds up inside her udders, the pressure from the outside grows as well, bras cutting into engorged tits and shirts straining tight. Every jiggle, every slosh, every tiny movement that makes ripples spread out across the increasingly overfull udders reminds the cow just how long it's been since her last milking. At some point, the pressure will be too great and the milk will come out on its own, but that comes with its own problems.
The next facet of the punishment is embarrassment. Not being milked is a unique kind of humiliation for a cow. Cows exist to be milked, after all, and being denied their purpose is a deep blow to their bovine pride. Beyond that, though, is a deeper devastation. As her udders engorge and swell and bulge out whatever clothing she's been allowed to wear, everyone will know exactly what's being done to her. Anyone who looks at her obscenely engorged udders will know how long it's been since her last milking, which either indicates a neglectful owner or, vastly more likely, this is being done intentionally. And when that pressure tipping point occurs, when the cow is just so fucking full that the milk rushes out of her on its own, that becomes a spectacle of itself. Milk soaks through her clothing, making her purpose and status as a cow even more obvious. More than that, it's shameful for a cow to let her milk go to waste, even unintentionally, and that shame is now being broadcast to anyone who sees her swollen, leaking udders.
One element of the punishment isn't readily obvious, even to the cow herself. The full weight of it isn't felt until long after the punishment is over. All that time spent uncomfortably and obviously engorged stretches her udders, not only making them bigger but raising their capacity, too. Over time, that drives up her production as well, making enough milk to fill their new capacity between each milking. And, of course, as their production and capacity increases, so, too, does their dependence on their owner. Their growth, internally and externally, further cements their helpless position as Cow, owned and cared for and tended to like the livestock they are. For a cow that's being punished for insubordination or trying to fight against her place in the world, the punishment itself works wonders at reminding her exactly where she stands. Or, rather, where she kneels, pumps rhythmically tugging on her milky nipples, letting all of her thoughts get pulled out of her along with her milk.
Most cows are good cows. Most cows are good and obedient and productive and many will never require punishment and correction. For those that do, however, simply withholding their vital milkings and can have them back on their hands and feet, udders hanging down, mooing proudly in no time at all and keep them there.
"Please, you have to help me! My boobs just won't stop growing and I don't know how to make it stop! These things already destroyed my bra and I don't know how much longer my shirt is going to last! I'm sorry for going into your room, but all I did was look at one of your dumb books and- Hhnnn... Fffuuuccck! The f-fabric... dragging over my nipples... it's driving me insane! It's... mmmf! It's getting h-hard to think! For fuck's sake, how do you stop this?! I'm sorry for going into your room! I'mm sorry for looking at your stuff! I didn't even know what I was reading! I just said sommme words out loud! I didn't mmmmean to- Ooohhnnnn... Oh, god, mmmy boobs... mmmy tits... mmmy udders! I feel like a fucking cow! Just fix it, p-please! I can't get any mmmooore mmmoossive! Shit, you have to do sommmething! What's happening to mmoooo? Mooo!? Mooooooo!"
Sofia looked down at her breasts and smiled. God, she loved them so much. There was no expectation of them looking real, not at this size. She had left that possibility a behind her a few thousand CCs ago. Getting to this size, though, was an achievement in its own right. They were a far cry from the little, budded A cups that genetics had left her with. As soon as she had gotten her first set of implants, a comparatively small 850ccs, she knew that she was hooked. Waking up from the anesthetic and seeing mounds on her chest for the first time in her life, even still wrapped in bandages and healing, was a transformative experience. Even before she left the hospital, she was already making an appointment for her next fill-up.
With 1600ccs of saline sloshing around in her chest, Sofia finally knew what it meant to be busty and it was immediately intoxicating. She couldn't stop obsessing over them! Anything that didn't show off her new cleavage was ejected from her wardrobe and replaced with something more revealing. Catching someone glancing at her bust, or even openly staring, sent a jolt of arousal through her. Sometimes, she'd catch her reflection and the realization that the busty woman in the glass was her was enough to make Sofia weak at the knees.
Upgrading to 3200ccs really started to shift things around in Sofia's life. She could tell that people were starting to take her less seriously and most people didn't even bother trying to hide their gawking. Navigating the world with these things under her chin was starting to become a struggle. Her view of the ground at her feet had been replaced by a (very enticing) view of her cleavage. She was constantly bumping into things and their firmness meant that they didn't really squish when she pressed them against something, making them a bit of an obstacle at times. When people would bump into her, she was never entirely sure if it was an accident. She would think, sometimes, about people randomly grabbing her to check if they were real and she'd have to steady herself from how horny it made her. Showers stretched on for more than an hour, spending more and more time leaning against the shower wall, one hand between her thighs and the other groping her huge tits.
By the time she reached 7000ccs, her entire life revolved around her tits. They were the biggest, most obvious thing about her. Sofia didn't mind, though. She loved the attention that her tits brought, even when it was negative. There was an undeniable power in the thought of being immediately considered lewd and pornographic, just from the size of her fake tits. Entire conversations were had with the other person just staring, mesmerized, at the deep canyon of her cleavage and she loved it. Sofia was her tits. The rest of her didn't matter. She was nothing but a pair of colossal, spherical, obviously fake, endlessly erotic tits.
Sofia splashed a little water on her face and finished up in the bathroom before returning to the waiting room. The receptionist had gotten to know Sofia very well over her countless visits and signed her in without issue. By now, Sofia had been in the surgeon's office enough times to have a favorite seat while she waited to go in. She wasn't just looking for bigger implants this time. She wanted more. She wanted expanders. She wanted to be able to keep pumping herself bigger and bigger and bigger. Sofia was her tits and there was nothing that could stop her from growing.