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I was seeing someone who knew about my lactation fetish. I thought he was making light of it when he bought me a nursing bra, but he wasn't. He told me to slip into his bathroom and try it on, and to come out and show him. He wanted to feel like I was presenting myself to him, which intrigued me. He didn't know how far my interest in milking went, so this wasn't him purposely feeding into my hucow fantasies.
My tits were much bigger at the time, and I thought they'd fill out the bra the way they would a normal bra. It was the right size, but there was no support. Once everything was in place, my udders still sagged. The soft cups making them look even saggier. I came out, trying to push my chest out to keep the cups from touching the top of my stomach.
He gave me a shiteating grin as he ran his hands up my sides, his fingers catching on the soft material. I told him I looked awful. I was swimming in this truly ugly white thing, the velcroed panels being the only part that gave any support. He pulled at the bit of velcro on top, slowly, watching my udder slide out slowly. He did the same with the other.
He didn't say anything, but I knew he was playing at humiliation. He knew I was self-conscious about my breasts and wanted to have fun at my expense. I'm sure that if he knew about wanting to be a cow, he'd go as far to get breast pumps. He was a creative, resourceful guy, I'm sure he would have even purchased a goat milker even if he just kept it around to make me feel embarrassed. The room wasn't chilly, but my teats felt colder than the rest of my chest.
Almost moist. My udders hung out, now low enough for my teats to graze my belly button. I was a little aroused, but could barely look at him. I tried to play off my shame by laughing softly along with him. He palmed them both and pushed up a bit, then gently lowering them and pulling off.
He said his palm was a little wet. I was apparently giving trace amounts of colostrum. We fucked, he suckled a little. We did this again a few times, but went straight to suckling. I threw it away after a few months of trying to wear it normally, but the lack of support made feel self-conscious, even if I were under a large shirt or sweater. A few times when I was alone at home, though, I stood in front of my bedroom mirror with it on.
I pulled the cups down the way he did and contemplated my tubular udders as they pulled down on the cup frames. I still felt a twinge of discomfort. He would go as far as getting a goat milker. The bit of moisture he felt would be justification enough to spend the money, even if 1/4 of the reasoning was arousal. He liked to tease and poke fun but given full license would completely humiliate someone.
Even alone, I couldn't bring myself to indulge. I fought off the urge to get on all fours every time by taking it off completely and quickly throwing a proper bra on. I guess it felt too real. I couldn't go through with it with him- it felt too intimate for me to enjoy. I keep thinking I want to go through with this, but can never get comfortable beyond taking pics of when I'm doing this alone. I think back to the embarrassment that coursed over me when my udders were revealed to be what they were- just large, saggy breasts.
I felt psychologically naked. I felt awful. My imaginary rewrite of the first time I put on the bra does find me on the other receiving end of a goat milker. The bra has even less support and my udders sag a little lower. He does further and sets up a basic hanging rack for me to place my chest down.
My udders hang free, he quietly takes each and rubs some cream or lube to keep my teats from blistering. I'll be wet at the first whirring sounds of milker, feeling it slide down my legs. He takes a fat udder in hand and brings the pumping tube in. I cry out at the first painful pull and then the second when my other teat is secured. It hurts, but I'm still so wet, still mewling with the alternating tugs on my teats.
I'm giving milk. It's sliding thickly down the see-through cups and sucked through the steel tubes. Unlike suckling, this is a clinical extraction. My milk isn't exclusively his, it could be taken and given to anyone. We're the only two there, but I feel so humiliated being on my knees, enjoying this kind of degradation.
Doing this in front of like-minded people would cross his mind, and while he'd be loving all the same, probably wouldn't go through with it.But I'd see that shiteating grin on face when he stoops down and gives my udders a firm squeeze. He wants to show me off. He gets as much as a cup in about 15 minutes. I'm still kneeling in a puddle of my own cum, but have held back from my orgasm.
My udders are dry and I'm in the wrong kind of pain, but the feeling is too good. I want to be locked in for hours and drift off to the alternating snaps of the tubes drawing my milk out. I start to picture my body being forcibly modified. Hormone injections to increase udder size and milk production. Watch as my areolae grow darker over time, with thick, extremely long nipples forming from the hours of suction.
They'd fit the tubes three inches in so the machine would be more effective. Maybe I stop caring and he shows me off. He lets strangers watch me during my milking times. They pull the tubes on and off to inspect my udders. I mewl every time my teats are pinched, or even gently handled.
I get wet when they latch on. Maybe I'm fine with my no longer secret identity. Maybe I accept that I'm a hucow through and through.
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