Milk Sow Ch. 07

Chapter 7: The Aftermath

Ben lay in bed and looked at his wife as she slept, the heat of his passion dwindling in the afterglow of sex. She was lying on her side completely naked. He watched as her chest rose and fell with each breath. Her breasts seemed to him huge now and the nipples still looked erect on their darker, puffier areoles. He watched fascinated by the blue streaks of her veins stretched out across the mountain of pale flesh. They looked so alien, jutting out with such a perfect shape, from her otherwise familiar body. Her nipples formed bright rose florets on their top, but they also seemed stretched, unnaturally large upon her. The neat crinkled folds in its tip had been replaced by two deep penetrating grooves running across the nipple forming a cross. Here was the remoulded tip where he had watched her milk erupt from, where he knew they had shaped her teats focusing her milk together into a single stream, the better to collect it. She had been changed, crafted into a milk factory. Ben's cock was rock hard at the same time he felt appalled at what he had allowed her to get involved in. He wished he had never thought of building his milking machine, but couldn't wait to see his wife mount it again in the morning.

He lay watching her sleep and thinking of the cells buried inside those mounds, unable to switch off, perpetually manufacturing her milk, drop by slow drop. Even now the milk was swelling her flesh, puffing out her nipples, stretching at her fabric until the tension was too great and she would need to feel that release once again. She couldn't stop it, neither of them could. They couldn't put this Jack back inside its box, yet they had agreed to try to reduce her milking. Her udders, for how else could he think of them when all the time the pressure of the milk was straining inside them, until she mewed from her discomfort and begged him to put her on his machine. Each time they were driven back downstairs for a milking session was another little defeat, another forced admission, another step along that road leading away from her ever re-establishing her former self. Each time his resentment towards her ratcheted up another notch. He resented that she could not be a little stronger, endure the discomfort a little more. Even so, once installed upon the machine, and he watched the milk stream from those twin channels carved into her, pouring down the tubes which sucked upon her, he realised it was a hopeless ask.

Ginny's body now seemed controlled by the needs of his machine. She was called back to it again and again, made to mount it and forced to feed it. When she entered the basement room, naked, she always seemed to shrink, cowed by its dominating presence; her lips seemed dry, her face uncertain. She seemed to have fallen in awe of the machine, and he understood how her hormones would stir within her, swelling her udders, her cunt becoming slippery and wet. He would fuck her as she lay upon it, tilted downwards making her rear prominent and available, but he understood that the intensity of her cums was only magnified when she was simultaneously being milked. Whenever they tried making love in their bed, she seemed to just lie there inert; as if she wasn't sure any longer whether she belonged there.

This irritated Ben more than he would like to admit. He wanted her to be the same as before. She was his wife, not his pet. So why did she have to feel so uncomfortable sleeping next to him? Why was foreplay so difficult? He knew, in his head that it was bound to take time for her training to wear off, yet he felt frustrated. He felt uncertain. The only time his wife seemed to participate as they made love was when he had started to suck on her tits. He had felt her nipples respond immediately, and she had arched her back, pushing her teats deeper into his mouth. He had felt the warm liquid squirt into his throat, had tasted the sweetness of her milk as it floated across his tongue and slipped down into his belly. In no time his mouth was filled with the creamy fluid. He heard her moaning and start to writhe under him, and this too had somehow angered him. He had smacked her hard on the side of her buttock as he had continued to fuck her, and that was right, he was fucking her. Yet instead of her snapping out of it, the intensity of her feelings had risen and before long he was smacking her more regularly. They had never played like that before, yet it seemed to drive something within her as she became consumed by her lust. He could smell her musky pheromones fill his nostrils, as he continued to drive into her and slap at her fleshy upturned cheeks.

Ben shook these thoughts from his head, and rolled across and stared again at her tits. The size of them was now bigger than he could encompass within his hands, where previously they had rested in his palms. Their weight and size appeared to him unnatural and had shifted her posture as she walked, forcing her to lean forward more, making her ass more prominent. She couldn't go about without a bra any more. When she had tried that, two damp patches emerged through her blouse and the dark rose ring could be seen clearly through the sodden material. Ben felt guilty when he contemplated the alterations in her physique that he had caused. He wanted her back to her old self again, but he knew she would never be quite the same person that he had married: never again. He resented her for being a constant reminder to him of what he had allowed, no secretly wished, her to do for him.

Into this mix of potent emotions seeped also an evil pleasure derived from watching her body respond to his machine, the hunted intimidated look on her face when he brought her to mount it twice each day. The fact that she now needed his machine to relieve the pressure in her chest, and standing behind her and pouring his seed down her fucking cunt as she rocked on top of it, her own pleasure eating away at her independence. Before long, Ben realised, being led downstairs twice a day would no longer be sufficient. He could see she was producing more each time. Soon she would be reduced to pleading with him to take her down over and over again, allowing the machine to attach itself to her body, remorselessly being worn down, severing string by tiny string Ginny from all the routines of her once normal life, becoming increasingly focused upon her engorged breasts and the milk she was helpless to prevent collecting within them. He sighed with a deep mixture of pleasure and guilt that welled up inside him, only to be placated by his resignation that the process was unstoppable. He leant over and kissed her shoulder. She shifted in the bed in response and he watched her large tits roll across her chest, rising and then falling as she sighed contentedly.

Ben climbed on top of her and started to kiss her more passionately. His tongue pushed aside her lips and she tilted her head back, still sleepy, as he invaded her mouth. His fingers moved down to her clit and her legs parted to make way for him, yet she kept her eyes closed. He wondered what passed through her mind as he gently twirled his finger around that hard eager little button. It did not seem to take much for it to swell up and peak out from under its hood. She seemed very sensitive, easily aroused. Was this part of her training too? Was she really responding to him or would she slide her legs apart and respond equally submissively to any man that demanded entrance of her? Not for the first time Ben got to wondering about how many men had fucked her during her training. They had never spoken of it. He could never ask, for the fear of being confronted by her confession, being left no escape route of doubt. Better not to know, only to guess, for he would never escape the belief that she had enjoyed it, no matter how much she might protest.

As he brought his stiffening cock up into alignment with her entrance, she lay open and waiting for him. She did not reach out and grasp his cock. Why didn't she? She used to. Surely that was all normal sex play, wasn't it? There was an air about her, or maybe it was the way she moved about the house, that seemed hesitant. No not hesitant, but withdrawn. Yes that was it, she seemed withdrawn from him. Maybe she was remembering someone else fucking her as her lips parted and embraced the thickness of his cock sliding into her. Maybe she wished it was his machine that was fucking her. Yet even that seemed too bold. There was something missing, some passive, animalistic acceptance about her that was devoid of participation. He drove hard into her and once again felt that rising impatience within him. She lay there while he took her, her engorged glands staring up at him, swaying in response to his passion driving into her, and he thought as he looked at her, what a fucking sow she was.

When he had cum, she mewed and reached out to him. When he fucked her on the machine, she shouted and seemed lost to the world around her. He lay on the bed, the afterglow and remorse washing into his soul. She came back from the shower and he lay watching her. Her tits were swollen with milk, it was nearing her milking time. The large areoles mounted upon them attracted attention and would draw the gaze of any man away from her face towards them. Her identity was shifting. Sure he still loved her, didn't he? Yet why did he have to work so hard to feel convinced? There was something about her manner that brought out an unseemly sadistic streak in him. He resented his machine and the pleasure she derived from it, a pleasure he no longer seemed able to instil in her.

Coming home the next day, he found Ginny naked on her knees. She wore a leather collar around her neck.

"What is this?" he asked. At first he wondered whether Matt from the farm had come to their house and had been using her. His stomach lurched, his mind frantically racing in its uncertainty on how he should react if he was still here.

"I bought this collar today. Do you like it?" she was speaking calmly.

"Err... yeh. You feeling horny?"

She nodded and then seemed to struggle for a moment to get the next words out.

"I thought you might attach a chain to it and pull me along down the stairs when it comes to my milking time."

He stared at her, but she would not look him in the eye. Ben felt anger well up inside.

"Well then let's try it now." He strode across and grabbed the short chain that hung from the stair balustrade. He clipped it to her collar and yanked at it, part dragging her as she strove to stand. His movement had been too swift. She gasped and he relented, but the blood still pounded in his head as he watched her climb first onto her knees and then stand a pace or two behind him.

"I'm ready" she said and off he marched her, pulling her down, down the stairs, down into the pit of the house, down into the degrading, monstrous room he had created that now she could not resist. He pulled her to the back of his machine and then forced her to make the decisive couple of steps onto the pressure pad until the machine took over. He watched her sink to her knees as he let go the chain, the machine pulling her legs apart forcing her to straddle the support. He watched with resentment as the cups rose up and latched themselves onto her udders.

"You are such a pig" he murmured as he could see the glazed look of abandon swallowing up her features. The milk flowed, the white stream draining nosily into the jars below. He watched her hips try to move as they always tried to catch the edge of the pad, to feel the pressure against her clit. He stretched out his fingers and felt her wet gush slither across his hand. He hated watching this primal act in which he felt so superfluous.

"I've decided to make a modification to the machine." They were sitting at the breakfast table the next morning.

"Oh?" Ginny's face looked up attentively. Even this seemed to irritate him. Any other subject and she would be only half listening, but at the slightest mention of his machine, she seemed immediately captivated.

"Yes I was reflecting after watching you on it yesterday. I realise how horny it makes you when you are being milked. I watched you getting all hot, twisting and squirming upon the support. The machine works best if the sow is immobile upon it, and so I've decided to add another attachment at the back end to hold the sow in place."

He watched his wife intently as he spoke. She was looking down at the table and a faint rose flush spread across her chest between the folds of her nightdress. She licked her lips. He wondered whether she was just embarrassed by his mentioning how horny she had been on his machine, or whether there was something more.

"I am going to add a steel support that will swing up behind the sow and enter her from behind. That should hold her in place don't you think?" The atmosphere at the table felt suddenly charged. The words crackled like sparks across the silence.

"Will....will it....move?" she still wouldn't look at him as she spoke. She understood that in his way, Ben was dragging a confession out of her and she didn't want to admit to her husband how much she missed Matt's probing thumb during her milking sessions.

"Why? Do you think it should?" he paused leaving is wife to feel the discomfort, before adding "Let the machine fuck her?" There was a harshness in his expression and choice of words that betrayed his anger and impotence. Ginny sat there unable to express the excitement that suddenly coursed through her veins at these words. She dared not speak, dared not admit openly to him how much she wanted this. Her hand slipped under the table and rested between her thighs. She tried to make it look casual, but the insistent tingling buzz from her clit was becoming alarmingly distracting. Ben spoke again, his voice softer this time, but perhaps there was a hint of menace in it too.

"Why don't you slip one of your tits out and squeeze some milk into this jug. We are a bit short."

He held the jug across the table. Ginny slipped the thin material back round the engorged globe of her breast. The nipple already hard and red from blood rushing to this portal where the deep gash carved into her would soon turn milky white. She lifted her hands to her mound and started the slow rhythmic slide of her fingers rippling across her compliant skin, drawing the milk down towards the nipple. She looked at the jug with concentration, aiming her milk towards its wide open mouth, and then as the milk began to appear she looked up and found her eyes locked to Ben's as he stared at her. In that moment she realised that she had complied to his demand without thinking. She sat before him in the glare of the acknowledgement that she was not his equal, this was not their breakfast table. He allowed her to sit and eat with him, but she was the milk sow. By just holding out the jug towards her, he was able to command her to part her clothing, expose her breast and milk herself in front of him, carefully aiming her produce into his jug, and she would comply unquestioningly to his demand. By this act, he was demonstrating to her just how fully he understood her shifting status in their home.

"Enough!" The one word was enough to bring her up short. She stopped pulling at her udder and watched as he poured a glass of her milk from the jug and drank it. He never took his eyes off of her as he drank and she sat, immobile, staring back at him, her breast still exposed with a dribble of milk collecting on its teat.

"That's settled then."

He got up swiftly, as if to signify the discussion was over. He left her seated at the table, digesting what had just happened. The buzz of excitement still tingled between her thighs, magnified by the humiliation of being made to milk herself at the breakfast table. Without thinking she had taken a decisive step away from being Ben's wife and towards becoming his milk sow. The times in each day when she could just be Ben's wife, the career woman, were ebbing away. She got up and pulled her nightdress over her breast. Breakfast was over, which was a relief to both of them.

That night, Ginny's dreams revolved around steel robots that Ben had brought in to perform routine chores in the house. She was supposed to instruct them; yet instead, no matter how hard she tried to stay in control, these mechanical machines would somehow end up commanding her. She dreamt the machines had huge steel cocks that shimmered and as she stood before them trying to maintain a confident air of authority, she would feel an overwhelming urge to sink to her knees. Her voice would falter, her eyes would flick between their impassive faces and their huge cocks. It was as if these mechanical robots were silently communicating directly into her brain. Suddenly she was naked before them and being told to kneel and present herself, opening her cunt lips and spreading her thighs in invitation before their solid, cold, hard and thick steel cocks. Her confidence evaporated as she sank into subservience, all the while thinking of Ben being angry at her failure to maintain her authority. As if their programming was flowing into her head, she would lift herself up and ease herself onto them, the icy coldness of the metal sending stabbing icicles of power surging into her belly, freezing her and turning her into their robotic servant. Then the steel stretching deep inside her womb would whirr into life and set up a mechanical dispassionate pumping, a rhythmic jolt hammering up into her brain, each blow driving in acceptance and driving out all resistance. It was at the precise moment when she convulsed uncontrollably in the grip of the machine that she dreamed her father and Ben had walked in and discovered her. She was lifted off the ground, steel fingers locked around her arms, her legs pulled back with her feet jammed behind wire sinews for purchase and upon her face the expression of total lust.

Yet if the nights were unbearably hot, there was no relief for Ginny during the day as she heard Ben down in the basement tinkering on his machine, forging the new attachment that would come to dominate her cunt as surely and utterly as the cups had already dominated her udders. Throughout the day her mind could not rest, paying constant attention to the noises echoing up from the work in the basement. Her fingers played insistently on her clit accompanied by the hammering of metal upon metal and the high-pitched whine of motors. She tried to put it from her mind, she tried to get on with other things, but she was trapped like a butterfly in a light shade: attracted beyond reason, knowing she was about to be consumed. Waiting in her holding pen for this machine to be ready to possess her.

Ginny had been on leave from work since her training, and by now she could not imagine ever being able to go back. How could she concentrate at work when she was so constantly distracted? She felt frightened about returning to the office, now she was trapped inside a sow's body and gradually adopting more and more the appetites of a sow. During the days Ben worked on the attachment, Ginny spent more and more time naked and she started to wear her leather collar permanently about the house. She wondered whether she could get a lock for it that would make it impossible for her to remove. Her fingers slipped in between her lips once more as she lay on the bed imaginging her legs wrapped around the feet of the machine pressing the cups against her udders and surrendered herself to cumming once more.

Ben finally finished with all the modifications and the waiting was over. Ginny stood before the machine as Ben fiddled with the levers underneath making final adjustments. She was naked and she trembled as she prepared to offer herself, a captive once more to this monster that she had allowed to infiltrate her thoughts and her dreams ever since Ben had started building it, unaware of its call upon his wife. Ben stood up and sighed.