Growth Opportunities

32M with a firm belief that bigger is always better. MDNI Asks are open!

[growth-opportunities]

concept: a down on her luck, burnt out grocery worker decides she’s giving up. she’s going to volunteer for an experimental trial, yes *that* one, that leaves all the subjects as big titty bimbos who, too dumb and horny to hold down a job, get taken away to some hucow facility. except. she goes to the trial, she takes the pills, and that dumbening never happens. instead, she has to keep living her life, moving forward with her growing body (and libido). It’s not as bad as it sounds

"Trust me, I'm fully aware that, if a sky-high libido and a propensity for oversharing is all I managed to walk away with, then I'm miles ahead of where I could have been. There were other girls in the trial who lost the ability to talk! Whenever they weren't moo-ing, they were giggling, and their hands were always groping a pair of huge, leaking udders and not always their own! In short, completely unfit to return to proper society. They still don't know why it didn't happen to me, but I go back for more tests every month or so while they try to figure it out. Honestly, my life isn't really that different from how it was before I signed up for the trial. I still live in the same apartment; I still work the same job at the same grocery store. The biggest changes are probably just that my work uniform doesn't fit the same way it used to and I really just cannot find a bra big enough for these things!

"Oh, and I guess you could count the few hours I have to spend every other day milking my huge tits. They get so full! Technically, it only takes about an hour to fully drain them, but they're really freakin' sensitive. I usually cum almost immediately when I feel the pumps tug on my nipples and then I just ride it out for as long as it takes to leave me spent; on a good day, I can get five or six orgasms out of me before I pass out! I am spending a lot more money on sex toys than I used to, that's for sure, but selling some of my milk helps to offset the cost a little. It's not Easy Street, by any means. I'm not living in a porno, where I can just flash my udders and get a discount on rent or groceries or whatever. Hell, I don't even get an employee discount on groceries! I'm just living my live, y'know? Same as it was before, except for the huge udders and the constant horniness and the whole milk thing.

"Gosh, I've been rambling haven't I? The pills didn't make me dumb, but they did leave me a little ditzy. I'll admit, I'm a hair more gullible than I was before. I am a lot more friendly, though! If someone gets me talking, I'll just talk and talk and talk and my filter is just—Poof!—gone! Don't get my started on my toy collection! I could go into detail! Ahh, thanks for listening. Anyway, I don't think you ever said; is that going to be cash or card today?"

[growth-opportunities]

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.

[growth-opportunities]

Being cursed to have huge, milky breasts was bad enough, but it turns out there's another twist: anybody drinking it steals away a piece of my personality! My roommate was only trying to help, but my milk gave her my breast obsession, and I'm worried it's only a matter of time before I'm reduced to just a pair of tits for her to play with...

I'm happy to tell you that you won't have to worry for long! Not because the curse will be lifted; goodness, no. Her—formerly your—breast obsession will drive her to keep drinking your milk, eventually pushing her to drink it straight from the source, and each drink will chip away at your personality until there's nothing left! If you're lucky, the next drink will take away your worry, leaving you huge and milky and carefree! Once your worry is gone, things will only start happening faster; you simply won't have it in you to come up with a reason to resist!

At some point after that, your independence will go and you'll wind up completely reliant on her. She makes the decisions. You simply can't do anything without her and you trust everything she says implicitly. When she orders you into a cow print bikini, you aren't worried about what it means and you implicitly accept that, when it comes to your outfit or anything else, he knows best. Surely, she must have a reason for bringing her friends over. You simply aren't capable of worrying about what it'll do to you when they start drinking from your udders, unbothered as they chip away at your personality. One of them gets your vocabulary, another takes your hobbies, another few shave off bits of your intelligence.

As they away your personality, you start to smooth out. Your voice becomes low and monotone, slow and even. You speak in short, simple sentences or—increasingly often—just grunts and hand gestures. That is, until you stop speaking at all. You don't need to. Your roommate takes care of everything for you. You're just blank and empty for her. It's so nice to let all of that stuff go and just be. You don't have to think. You don't have to worry. You couldn't, even if you had to, but it's still nice to be free of such burdens. You just have to be big. Big and busty and soft and milky. Your roommate loves your massive, sloshy udders. She's obsessed with them! All you have to do is let her grope you and knead you and grow you and suck on your huge, swollen udders. There isn't much left for her to take from your personality, but you'd let her have it all anyway.

[growth-opportunities]

You know what's cool about a geeky girl? No matter how many growth supplements she takes, all that sitting around means it mostly goes to her ass! Too bad, so sad!

"Bro, are you fucking serious? I was just sitting in my chair, booster pack opening vids on one monitor and Hades on the other, when all of a sudden I heard this ripping sound. I thought it was a loose connection for my headset, but it only got louder when I took them off! I don't know which I was more upset about, the fact that I lost my Hades run or that my ass and thighs absolutely fucking destroyed these leggings! They were my last pair! God, look at the way I'm bulging out of these; I look like a fucking salami. Those growth pills you sold me are bullshit. I should have known from the beginning, when my cosplay skirts started feeling shorter, but you kept telling me to trust the process and now I've got this gigantic fucking ass. You promised massive, sloshing mommy milkers and, after three rounds with those pills, I'm barely a cup size bigger. Ugh, fuuuuuuuck! I'm gonna need to buy a wider gaming chair pretty soon if this keeps up! You're such an asshole. How am I gonna be a titty streamer now?!"

[growth-opportunities]

Dear Growth,

Can one become a Hucow if they don't have any sign of it in their lineage? Asking for a friend.

The Friend

Hello, friend!

Of course, you can become a cow! One doesn't need to come from a dynasty of hucows in order to achieve greatness! After all, even the greatest hucow lineages had to start with someone! Who knows? There may be incredible potential locked away inside you, just waiting to be pulled out of you with the right amount of effort. Perhaps you'll be the beginning of a new, generational line of hucow stock!

That isn't to say that you won't be at a disadvantage compared to some of the well-known hucow lineages. The real benefit that they have over you is history and with history comes knowledge. When you go back far enough, sometimes the lessons can seem apocryphal or anecdotal; great-great-grandmama Clover crediting her incredible production to the regular consumption of beets and burnt cabbage doesn't always carry forward. It does, however, give you a place to start from. In the generations hence, other cows in her lineage might experiment and tinker and try to isolate if it really was beets and cabbage that made Clover so milky and, if it was, what about them worked so well. Since they all descend from Clover, they can be fairly certain that what worked for her will work for them, too, even if "beets and burnt cabbage" has become a custom cocktail of vitamins and minerals and proteins, tailored to their physiology. Generational knowledge enhances natural propensities and those enhancements compound.

In your case, you're going in blind. You won't know what works for you until it does. For many new cows, that can be intimidating. A lot of hucow farms, especially those above a certain herd size, will simply come up with something that works marginally well—or well enough that they feel justified in using it—rather than what works for each cow, individually exactly for the reason that experimentation can be complicated and time consuming. You, on your own, don't have to worry about that. You can focus on what works best for you.

Start with something a bit generic, like they use at the major farms. It's almost guaranteed to help at least a little bit, help your udders start to grow in, help to ramp up your milk production in the beginning. Keep with that for at least a month; two would be better. Once you have a baseline established, then you can start to experiment! Tweak your diet, add a little of this or take away a little of that. Don't be afraid to borrow notes from what works for other hucows! The truly prestigious hucow dynasties, with their enormous, sloshing megamilkers, will likely keep theirs as a closely guarded secret, but I'm sure you can find other cows online who are willing to share what works for them. Give it a month to see what happens. If production goes up, you're headed in the right direction! If not, pivot! You're going to be a cow for a very long time, so you'll have plenty of opportunity to experiment with what's going to make your udders bigger, denser, more productive, more efficient. Keep notes. Keep trying new things! You'll get the gigantic udders you want.

[growth-opportunities]

Girl whose saliva causes growth leaves a trail of massively expanded cocks n balls in her wake

"Ha! You can't be serious! What do you actually expect me to do with that thing? I can't even fit my mouth around it anymore! It's, like, almost frighteningly huge. How am I supposed to stroke it when I can't even get both hands around it? My tits might be huge, but any attempt at a tittyfuck would basically just be me rubbing my torso against it. I like 'em big—don't get me wrong—but I can literally feel my body tightening up, like it's saying 'Nuh uh, don't even think about putting that anywhere near me, let alone inside me!' I liked handling it when it was smaller! It was nice back then, a good size that could fit in my hand, between my tits, in my mouth. Now it's kinda freakish, y'know? Maybe if I were part horse or—fuck—part elephant, I'd be attracted to something that enormous.

And don't act so indignant, okay? You wanted this! I warned you and you fucking begged me to keep sucking and licking and rubbing my saliva all over you. Your size greed got the better of you and now you're stuck with this useless, laughably huge cock. Guys always say they want a big dick and now you're upset that you got carried away. No, I don't feel bad or whatever! I don't feel any kind of responsibility! It doesn't bother me at all that you're going to need to tailor all your pants to fit that behemoth and I really couldn't care less about how full your colossal, churning balls feel. Even if I had a way to relieve that kind of pressure, I'd really prefer not to take a cum bath afterwards. If you're looking for sympathy, go down to the stables or something, because you're not getting any here. You're on your own, tripod."

[growth-opportunities]

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.

[growth-opportunities]

You can feel it.

Every bounce, every jiggle, every wobble serves as a constant reminder.

You are your tits. Your tits are your worth.

You can't resist the urge to show them off, to make sure everyone can see them and appreciate them and, by extension, you. Every time you see someone glancing at your tits, staring at them, obsessed with them, you know that you have worth. You have value. You're tits. You're porn. And you want to be the best that you can be.

Some of that means dressing the part. Crop tops and no bra make sure that they bounce as much as possible, even if it means bouncing out. Letting them see your tits just makes them even more entranced! It gets hard to think with all that bouncing distracting you, all that attention making you horny and needy, but you don't need to think. Porn doesn't have to think. Tits don't have to think.

And you need to be bigger. You are your tits and your tits are your worth, after all. The bigger you are, the more worth you have. Maybe you use lotions and creams and pills to make your tits as big and as soft as possible, growing them to keep them bouncing and keep them wobbling. Maybe you inflate them with as much cheap saline as you can, pushing past the limits of the human body to be as big and as good as possible. You won't bounce anymore, not in the same way, but that might just make people stare at your pornballoons even more.

Every glance, every grope, every squeeze just proves how good you are.

You are porn.

You are your tits.

Your tits are your worth.

Your tits make you an object for the pleasure of others.

You can always be better.

You can always be bigger.

[growth-opportunities]

Hey growth, so I'm a trans woman in her 30s and have tried everything (HRT injections for years, lip fillers, lipo, breast augmentation, fat sculpting/transfer) but nothing seems to feel... 'enough'... I heard taking bovine growth hormones can interact with silicone, fillers, and botox for more extreme results... and I just took a BUNCH of them... how screwed(?) am I?

Well, however screwed you are now, you're going to be screwed a lot more in the future!

At first, you're not going to notice much of a difference. The hormones won't really ramp up their effectiveness for a few weeks. Until then, the only thing you'll notice is a little extra fullness. Your tits, already round and tight from your implants, will plump up a little bit as your body reconfigures parts of itself that it never thought it'd have to use again. All of the fat that you shifted from your now waspish waist to your ass and your thighs will begin to blossom bigger and softer. As far as your body is concerned, it just got dumped with ten times the hormones it was ever built for, and more effective hormones at that, so it's going to start clinging on to fat and calories, eager to make sure that it has enough energy to make it through what's coming. Your lips might get a little bit bigger, but the most potent change will be in their sensitivity. Just having something between them is going to feel so good that not having anything there will make you ache. In a matter of days, you'll develop an oral fixation that simply cannot be ignored.

After about a week or so, maybe two, things will begin to change in earnest. The fat deposits in your lower half will practically balloon, growing thicker, growing softer, growing wider. Every step will send your hips swinging and your ass sloshing and you won't be able to stop eating to feed your growth. Your over-sensitive lips will see to that, moaning as you wrap them around thick straws and hot dogs and anything else that can fit so snugly between them. Using your implants as the core of your new udders, your body will make brand new milk ducts and direct every bit of fat that isn't in your ass to your tits. They'll still be firm, though. They'll still be tight and full, only growing tighter as your milk ducts spring to life and start making the milk that your body demands of you. Getting the suction cups of your milk pumps over your nipples that have otherwise been stretched flat over your implants might be a challenge, but it'll be worth it to moo around a thick toy as milk rushes down into the tanks.

The most intense change, though, won't be physical. At least, not directly. As the hormones settle into your body, and your fakies turn to balloon-like udders and your ass becomes huge scoops of wobbling jelly, you're going to be overcome with a singular, devastatingly powerful need: to be bred. You'll feel it burn in your core, in your chest, in your mind. You'll be hornier than you've ever been in your entire life. The hormones interact with the Botox to shift some numbing effects to various parts of your brain while keeping the parts related to reproduction will stay keenly awake. You'll be backing your ass up against anything that moves, desperate to be filled. The craving to be bred will only get stronger as the need goes unfulfilled. Each load blown between your colossal cheeks, buried deep inside your ass while your gock spurts its load on the ground at your feet, will only make you needier for it. Sure, none of the last hundred attempts took root. But that just means you'll have to try a hundred more!

[tiddyaddicted]

Cursing you to induce growth every time you talk about your tits in a way that isn’t hugely raunchy and pornographic.

You can’t call them tits! They’re obviously your

Gigantic sweater stretching porn melons.

Heaving mounds of breed-able WobbleFat.

right?

[growth-opportunities]

"Come on, stop it! Don't make fun of me! I have to call them my humongous, sweater-stretching pornudders! If I just call them my breasts I— FFUUUCK! You fucking bastard! You're enjoying this, aren't you? I bet you're the one who put the curse on me! Shit, I don't think this top is going to last much longer! Just remove the curse, okay? Please? I can't go out like this! Do you think I have any bras that can fit all this gigantic, jiggly fuckmeat? What am I going to do when I have to go bra shopping? Are you really going to make me go up to the attendant and ask them to measure the—sigh—juicy globes of wobbling goonmeat on my chest? I can't bring my jumbo hyper ultra stuffed-up knockers to work! They'll write me up for looking like a whore in a button-down shirt! I'll have to spend the rest of my life calling them my slutted up bra busters or else I'll wind up with even more gravity welling wobble melon on my chest! Wait, what are you— Don't! Get your hands away from my— AAHHHNNN! MY ULTRA SLOSHY PORN MILKERS ARE TOO FUCKING SENSITIVE! MY MEGA SIZED FUCKBAGS! MY HUGE! GROWING! TITS!"

[growth-opportunities]

My wife is a hucow and has been avoiding being milked. She's afraid of being seen with "floppy, saggy boobs" so she keep herself backed up with milk. Her boobs are massive but painfully engorged. I see her wince when she thinks she's alone. How can I help her?

I don't want to alarm you, but you need to get your wife hooked up to a set of milk pumps right away. You may have to be sneaky about it. You may have to force her. Regardless of how you do it, your wife needs to be milked as soon as possible.

There are two possibilities. The first is that, by not milking herself, she'll tell her body to stop making as much milk in general and, over time, the supply she has will naturally drain and stop. Disappointing, but not the end of the world, though she'll wind up with the "floppy, saggy boobs" that she fears so much anyway.

The other possibility is a lot more dramatic.

Her body might perceive the intentional non-milking as some sort of blockage and, in attempt to clear the blockage, will ramp up production of milk to force it out. Her body doesn't know that she's purposely refusing to drain her udders, only that no milk is coming out. The longer she goes without milking, the worse it'll get. Her tits will continue to swell and engorge, sloshing with more and more milk. Her production will increase exponentially, her milk glands working overtime to push as much milk out of her as possible. Her tits will become swollen and painful and huge and tight. They'll start to leak from the pressure alone, soaking into her bras and her clothes as they get tighter around her sensitive udders, until they finally erupt in milk. Fountains, torrents of milk will gush from her teats, more than any standard milker would be able to handle. And that's her new baseline, making that much every day, her whole life now dedicated to the sole task of pumping as much milk from her tits as possible.

Either way, this abstention from milking isn't going to end how she thinks it will. It's up to you to help her. Good luck!

[growth-opportunities]

i'm a tgirl who got her boob implants and lip filler a year ago and am saving for a BBL and i already feel the greed coming back. bimbos and size greed have always interested me but now i'm realizing i have too much IQ and not enough plastic. could you help?

The answer is surprisingly simple: just go bigger. Stuff more saline and filler into your body and, all on its own, your IQ will wither away and atrophy until there's almost nothing left! Sure, gooning your brains out and melting your mind with pretty spirals will help speed up the process, but the reality is that, as you bimbofy yourself, your intelligence will go away all on its own.

Nobody expects women with big, round titties to be smart. That it's to say that busty women can't be intelligent; some certainly are. When women get fake tits that big, when they're so big that they strain everything you own, when they project straight out from your chest in near perfect spheres of cheap, sloshing saline, people start to question your intelligence. On a subconscious level, they'll question why anyone with any kind of real intelligence would choose to be so burdened with such immense fake tits, would choose to look like a cheap whore, and they'll adjust their expectations accordingly. Without even realizing it, their sentences will become shorter around you; they'll stop using big words. Every so often, they'll catch themselves and explain in slow, even tones to make sure your dumb, bimbo brain can understand. This might be a little frustrating, especially when they only talk to your tits, but I promise it's a good thing! It'll naturally remind you that you do, in fact, have a dumb bimbo brain and them making things easier for you just means it won't have to work as hard. Just like with any other part of your body, your brain will start to weaken from lack of use.

Bigger lips will do much the same thing except internally instead of externally. As your lips reach a critical size, a certain level of huge and bee-stung and obstructive, you'll find it harder to speak. You'll get the signature bimbo lisp that comes with having such big lips and your speech patterns will naturally slow. The more you stumble, the harder you have to work to get the words out, the more you'll optimize. You'll choose shorter words or even no words at all; it's remarkable how much you can communicate with a bounce and a giggle!

Similar to your boobs, as your lips get bigger, people will quickly learn that your plump, soft, overfull lips are only good for one thing and it isn't talking. People stop talking with you and start talking at you. Everything they say to you is either a simple command or questions primed for simple responses, nothing that can't be answered with a nod or shaking your head or opening your lips to have something slip inside.

It will be such a relief to not have to think, to not have to worry. Everyone else is so smart. They'll take care of you. All you have to do is be pretty and pink and big and round and fake. And you can do that so well! Before you know it—and long after you're too dumb to appreciate it—your lips will be huge, your tits will be huger, and your IQ will be room temperature, at best. Dumb and plastic, the perfect pretty fucktoy for everyone to gawk at and use.

Just keep getting bigger. Just keep pumping yourself huge. Everything else will fall naturally into place.

[growth-opportunities]

"MILK ME!"

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."

[growth-opportunities]

They won't stop growing.

I won't let them.

Every morning you wake up and your tits are a little bit bigger, a little bit heavier, a little bit fuller. You feel them weigh on your chest, jiggling and sloshing as you rise up from bed, bouncing as you walk over to your dresser. Even wrapping your arm around them, feeling their softness bulge over and under, isn't enough to fully dampen the movements of your growing tits. You already feel the familiar dread in your chest as you pull open your drawer and pull out a bra. You know it'll be too small, too tight, forcing your growing tits to bulge over the cups. It always is, day after day, even after upgrading to new sizes. But what choice do you have? Your shirts do nothing to hide the obscene shape your tits take squeezed into the too-small bra. If anything, their tightness just highlights the uneven shape of your soft, wobbling tits. Everyone will see. Everyone will know. They can't be hidden and it gets worse every day.

And that's exactly how I want it to be.

I want every jiggle, every wobble to be a reminder of what I've done to you. Every time you feel your tits brush against something or rest against the table as you lean forward, I want you to think about me and what I've done to you. I took you and molded you and reshaped you and grew you and grew you and grew you. And now, more and more every day, your entire world revolves around the tits I gave you. Nobody looks you in the eye anymore. People gawk at you and stare at you and whisper about you as you walk by them, tits sloshing with every step. Every inch you grow—every inch that I force onto your chest—shifts the focus of your entire world a little more towards your tits. They're eclipsing the rest of you, taking over your life. All because of me. I wanted this for you. Now you have to live with it.

And it's only made worse by the fact that it feels so fucking good.

You spend hours every night groping yourself, kneading your tits, tugging on your nipples. The perception of your tits as the center of your being isn't just external, but shifting internally, too. The bigger I make you, the more your life revolves around your tits. More and more frequently, you fall asleep dizzy and basking in orgasmic glow, mindlessly repeating "I'm just tits. I'm just tits. I'm tits. I'm tits." There's a part of you that worries that your tits will eclipse your identity if I keep making you bigger. There's a part of you that can't fucking wait.

[growth-opportunities]

So... for the fictional character asks... uh... anything miss kobayashi's dragon maid related would be swell... pun intended

"S-see?! I told you I was bigger, Miss Tohru! Look what all those yummy, human pastries have done to me. I'm so big and so soft now! Almost as big as Lucoa, bigger than you, and way bigger than that flatty Kobayashi! So you'll love me now, right? I'm so much thicker than her, so much curvier than her! I grew my titties even bigger so that I could be perfect for you and so you'd love me! Look at all this soft, wobbly titty! Wouldn't you rather play with all this than all the nothing that Kobayashi has?! Come on, please?! Just love me, Miss Tohru! Love me and my huge boobies! Fine, if you don't like them, I'll just go bigger! I'll beat even Lucoa! I'll make Lucoa look small! I'll have gigantic, colossal, astronomical titties and enormous, wide hips and a soft tummy buried under it all and I'll be perfect for you! I'll be so big that you'll never have to look at anyone else ever again! Just say the word and I'll do it! Say the word and I'll grow so big that I could swallow even your dragon form in my cleavage! I'll be so big that you won't be able to look at anyone ever again, let alone that pathetic Kobayashi, because my curves and my size will take up your entire field of view! Everywhere you look will just be Elma! Just the dragon that loves you!"

[growth-opportunities]

"God, just fucking look at these things! They're huge! I thought those pills would take me up to a C cup at most, and now I have these gigantic fucking udders! I'm completely obsessed with them. I can't stop juggling them and wobbling my new titties. It's so bizarre to have all this weight pulling down on my chest, sloshing whenever I move my shoulders, stretching out my top. And look at all this cleavage! I could fucking bury someone in there! Every shower I take now winds up lasting, like, two hours. Ten minutes for my hair, twenty minutes for my body, and then an hour and a half just bouncing and jiggling and soaping up these big, juicy titties! Even catching sight of myself in a mirror sets me off. Just yesterday, I got stuck sloshing my udders in a store window because I got a good look at my side profile in the reflection. It was so embarrassing but it felt so fucking good. I know I should stop. I should be satisfied with what I have, but I only took a handful of those pills. I still have most of the bottle left. I'm genuinely afraid of how big I'd get if I were to take them all. What would that do to me? Would I be able to resist playing with my colossal udders then? I know I need to get rid of those pills, but I just can't bring myself to do it. They're so tempting! What do you think? A little more wouldn't hurt, right?"

[growth-opportunities]

I went to a local racetrack today—not something I've ever done before—and the whole drive I was trying to think of some joke about Umamusume. The punchline "What the fuck are these four-legged freaks?" was seriously considered.

However, within minutes of my arrival, I was looking at the horses preparing for the next race and I had to do a double take as up walked someone wearing a full-on, head-to-tail-to-toe Silence Suzuka costume.

And I just don't really have anything funny or horny to say about that. It was awesome. I'm visiting some family in a part of the country that doesn't seem like it'd be particularly friendly towards that kind of thing, and this person showed up to the races, on a hot and humid day, wearing their outfit proudly. I dunno, it was just cool to me.

I'm not trying to dox anyone and the odds that this person follows me here is infinitely small, but just in case and in support of everyone who dares to be brave:

I see you.

I appreciate you.

And you fucking rocked it in those heels.