thoughts about leaking milk through clothes? unable to take them off and forced to soak through it, maybe because theyāre too tight from them growing, or social conventions? :3
Oh, I love it! Seeing milk soak through a tight top is one of the hottest things in the world. I love it especially when it comes almost as a punishment for hubris.
This particular cow thinks that she understands herself fully. She sees herself as apart from those other dumb, ditzy, horny cows who let their bodies control them. She's smarter. She's different. She's the one in control. When she goes out in public, wearing tight clothing doesn't concern her in the slightest. Her whole day has been mapped out, down to the exact timing of her various pumpings, guaranteeing that she balances her personal life with the needs of her body. Her plan is as thorough as it is flawless!
And then something happens.
Maybe the bus hits traffic and she's late to her first milking, throwing the rest of the day off balance. Maybe it's her own fault, getting distracted and losing track of time. Maybe it's both! Regardless of what exactly the cause is, her schedule doesn't go to plan and, suddenly, she realizes just how tenuous the whole thing really was.
Suddenly, she's trying to muddle through her day while her udders swell larger and engorge with milk. She knows her schedule so well that she knows just how long it'll be before she can next sneak away to milk herself. Denial sets in. It'll be fine, she tells herself. Just stick to the plan. Trust the process. It'll all work out.
Her body has other plans. Almost insulted at the idea that she could just wait it out, her udders seem to go into overdrive, making more and more milk by the second. She forces a smile even as her shirt gets tighter over her bust, riding up, turning translucent as it stretches. The pressure of her milk grows and grows until it reaches the point where she almost can't make it anymore.
She doesn't notice the release, at first. The milk doesn't let down all at once. As her supply pushes past her max capacity, only the overflow leaks out. And leak out it does. She still has to deal with the tightness and the aching and the swelling, all while her shirt is growing more and more damp. The darkened spot spreads rapidly, clinging to her tits, making it painfully obvious what's happening to her. By the time she realizes what that strange coolness on her chest is, it's far too late to stop it. Even if she were to scramble and run to the closest spot she can milk, assuming there was one at all, her top is already drenched and her day is ruined.
She thought she could control it. She thought she was better.
She's a cow, big and soft and milky.
And that's all she'll ever be.
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