Okay so hear me out here: lockable nipple clamps used to tame a lactating brat.
You misbehave one time too many and your dom clamps these on to your nipples and locks them, saying she'll only remove them when you behave. Naturally you refuse to do anything of the sort, even as your tits get fuller and heavier and ever more tender.
You assume she'll back down that evening, but nope. You have to ditch your bra by dinner time, and every time your aching nips rub against the inside of your t-shirt you visibly wince. She smugly tells you they can come off the moment you say you're sorry and that you'll be a good obedient girl, but your pride won't allow it. She'll give in eventually. She has to.
By bedtime you're hugely engorged, and as you settle into bed next to your dom she smirks, watching you try in vain to find a remotely comfortable sleeping position. The bedsheets feel excruciating against your straining tits, and you finally settle in to a fitful night's sleep on your back with the covers around your waist, swollen rack bared to the world.
Your morning shower is almost impossible. Every time the stream of water hits your tits you gasp in pain, and unfortunately by this point they're a pretty big target. The contortions you need to go to to keep your breasts out of danger while you ever so gently try to wash them are ridiculous, and you're almost about to give in before your stubbornness sets in again.
By midday, increasingly desperate for relief, you resort to trying to pick the locks with a hairpin. Of course your dom finds you in the middle of this mutiny: she informs you that she'd been about to take pity on you but given this latest act of disobedience clearly you haven't learnt your lesson. She confiscates your hairpins, ignoring your wail of despair.
Evening rolls around again: your poor tits are several times their normal size, nipples straining, skin taut as a drum. You're so unbelievably tender that you can't even handle the breeze from the air conditioner blowing on them. You wobble painfully to your dom and beg her forgiveness. She asks if you're sorry. You are. She asks if you promise to be a very good girl and do what you're told. You do. She fishes out the key...
...and then hesitates. "Maybe I should get you to show me you mean it". A wicked look comes to her eye, and you whimper as the prospect of blessed relief disappears.
She gets out the strap, demanding you strip. Obviously you're halfway there already, though you struggle to get your panties off without bumping your bloated melons. She chuckles at your obvious distress.
She makes you suck her strap to begin with, and you're barely able to manage it, engorged rack swaying beneath you, tender nipples dangerously close to the bedsheets. Of course that's not the end of it.
She lays back and motions for you to straddle her. You clamber on awkwardly. Her first thrust into you sets your massive chest bouncing, and you squeal as your poor, abused tits crash against your chest.
"A little quieter, dear" she admonishes you. You choke back your sounds of pain as you ride her, massive mammaries sustaining more and more abuse.
You hurt too much to come, but eventually she sighs happily and lets you clamber off. "Good girl", she says, gently patting one of your tits, "let's get those off you". She takes you by the hand to the shower, unlocks your clamps and finally you're able to milk yourself.
The relief feels so, so good. Embarrassingly good. The feeling of your milk finally leaving your bloated tits, combined with your hands massaging your aching nipples, brings you the climax you hadn't found before. Repeatedly, in fact. By the time you've finally emptied your jugs you're exhausted and soaked in a variety of fluids.
"Good girl!" your dom congratulates you, viewing the milk splattered walls of the shower with evident pride. She gently carries you into the bedroom and tucks you into bed, and you fall asleep in her arms.
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