CHAPTER 4 #2
I obey. A moment into the exhale, pain plunges into me where my neck meets my shoulder.
My breath catches, but I focus on the numbers, on slowly releasing the air in my lungs. Razul’s grip steadies me, making the pain bearable.
I get to fifteen before I lose count, but not because of pain.
A strange, tingling heat floods my body, and I take a gasping breath as the heat settles between my legs, making my cunt throb.
After a few moments of panting, the tingling echoes in my breasts.
The pain in my shoulder turns to pressure, then eases as the needle leaves.
Razul’s hand lifts from my head, though his claws still circle my arms.
His face is close to mine, but my eyes can’t focus. His hand presses against my cheek, and I lean into it. Warm fingers brush my lips, and with the venom’s effect pulsing through me, that light touch is divine.
Razul’s fingers continue to explore my face, but not like a lover.
Like a vet.
Pulling back my lips to check my teeth and gums, gently tracing my ears and checking for debris, palpating my limbs to assess my joints and muscles.
I sink deeper into that strange relaxation. Heat and arousal ripple through me, but I can’t imagine doing anything about it.
I’m bound and sedated, forced to accept the care I need but don’t understand.
When Razul touches my breasts, I gasp. They’re firm and small for now, but that won’t be true for much longer.
Every touch intensifies the tingling, which centers and swirls around my nipples. Heat pulses outward, panging in my core.
Razul palpates my breasts with medical precision. It reminds me of when the ICSS doctors check for breast lumps, but with the venom’s effect, it’s undoubtedly erotic. His hands eventually move on, and I whimper at the loss.
Through a glowy haze, a muffled, anxious thought worries that I might offend him.
But Razul isn’t my lover.
He’s my caretaker.
I don’t need to impress or perform.
Razul’s hands drift lower, circling my waist. When his thumbs brush below my navel, I gasp and arch my back.
His exam continues down my hips and thighs, briefly checking my feet and hands. He lifts my legs, pressing my knees toward my ears, gently articulating the joints to check their motion. I remain totally relaxed in his grip.
Razul’s thumbs press on either side of my center, on the creases of my thighs, and I whimper at the wave of warm pleasure.
His grip pulls me open, examining my folds. My muscles clench and my cunt throbs, and I’m sure he can see it, which sends my eyes rolling back.
He does the same to my ass, pulling me open slightly and making my breath stutter.
When his gentle touch slides along my folds, I come apart. Fuck, I can feel just how wet I am. I moan shamelessly as his finger finds my center, pressing slowly in. It’s thick enough to make my breath catch, and my inner muscles clench greedily.
With a lover, I’d overthink everything.
But I have no use for thoughts now. I just exist. There’s no right or wrong way for a cow to react to milking, only instinct and sensation.
Razul’s finger slides deeper.
He’s not trying to pleasure me. His precise movements are assessing depth and tissue health.
And somehow that makes it feel even better.
Fuck, it feels so good.
I moan needily and squirm.
Razul’s other hand finds my breast, and I gasp with overwhelm. The flesh is so sensitive, so tender. My eyes can barely focus, and as I look down, I see my chest has already swollen several sizes.
Under Razul’s palpitation, I become aware of just how heavy and full my breasts feel.
His finger brushes over my erect nipple, and electric pleasure zings from the point, rippling down my spine.
Female animals cry out loudly in heat, and I’m no different, wailing and mewing and gasping at the overwhelming sensations in my breasts as Razul massages them.
Stimulating milk production, I’m sure. I writhe and squirm, rubbing my thighs together, chasing stimulation. Fuck, I want something in my cunt again… I want to breed…
I can’t tell if these thoughts are from the venom or from my own heart, but I don’t care.
My cries get louder and needier, calling out for a mate. It doesn’t matter if Razul provides one or not.
I just want. I just need. I can want and need without fear that it will be taken as a sign that I don’t belong, a sign that I need to be sent away again.
That heavy ache in my chest intensifies in waves as my breasts swell more and more. The bindings around my arms and calves tighten as the rest of my body swells too, gaining softness.
Then Razul’s finger slides into my cunt again, and I lose my capacity for thought completely.
RAZUL
I fight to keep my breath and movements steady. Sylvus made it clear, in no uncertain terms, just how much she’ll hurt if I make a mistake.
Fuck, she’s incredible.
Yet so small, so fragile. Her hips have softened and widened, and her breasts now each fill my hand, but she’s still underweight for a hucow. That means the ICSS was neglecting their husbandry; her body wasn’t getting the nutrition it needs.
She’ll need feeding. Nurturing. I’ll systematically address every issue affecting her appetite.
For now, the transformation is the most important. It will already tax her underfed systems, so she can’t afford any missteps.
It doesn’t matter how my abdomen throbs. I suspected she might have this effect on me when that possessive violence rose hot and fast. Something to figure out later.
I stimulate her breasts, accelerating milk production.
The faster the transformation completes, the less stress she’ll endure overall.
I add vaginal and clitoral stimulation to soothe her and help her tolerate the overwhelm.
The internal anterior fornix and internal clitoral erogenous zones are exactly where Sylvus suggested.
The way she moans and cries, loud and shameless, head thrown back and trembling…
Fuck, she’s perfect.
Her breasts swell under my touch, going taut. Almost there.
She lets out an especially loud cry, muscles clenching around my finger.
I immediately stop all stimulation, stilling the fingers inside her.
Celeste screams with frustration, gripping and writhing and huffing. Her unfocused eyes desperately scan the room, unseeing.
I consider soothing her with words, but that’s not she needs right now. As soon as she melted under my hand, I could tell. I now understand exactly why she became a hucow.
I suppose it makes sense; I’ve always been good at understanding without words. It’s why I’ve been able to tend the caimites.
And why I know exactly what Celeste needs.
Right now, she needs my voice—but not to understand my words.
I reach around behind her ear and disable her neural implant. She moans and leans into my touch.
“You’re doing so well, Celeste.”
She tips her chin up as she hears me, but there’s no glimmer of recognition or forebrain processing behind her eyes. My voice is nothing but soothing tones to her. Perfect.
“I’m going to stimulate you again,” I tell her, narrating aimlessly like I do with my caimites. “You’re almost there.”
I start with her breasts first, knowing vaginal and vulvar stimulation will be most likely to tip her into premature orgasm.
Her whimpering is pained, and I’m forced to add genital stimulation almost immediately.
This will require perfect precision. The first orgasm after transformation is followed by extreme sensitivity. Any milk left in her breasts will be excruciating, and any subsequent milking will be torture.
Changing stimulation patterns can aid in delaying orgasm, so I slip a second finger into Celeste’s cunt.
“I need you to stretch for me.” This will now be a larger diameter than the average human phallus.
She tips her head back and moans perfectly, trembling with another surge of growth. When her moan softens into panting gasps, milk beads and drips from her nipples.
“That’s it, sweet girl. You’re ready now.”
There’s no question in my mind; I’m not using the milking machine. I need to control her stimulation precisely. I lean down and gently lick her nipple, taking it into my mouth.
A rush of milk hits my tongue as Celeste whimpers with relief.
My whole body shudders. It’s hot and sweet and incredibly creamy, like nothing I’ve ever tasted.
I lose my composure, sucking hard, and Celeste screams with ecstasy.
Her cunt flutters around my fingers, and I’m forced to stop all stimulation again.
Celeste’s desperate cry cuts to my core.
“I’m sorry. You’re alright. You just need to relax for a moment. Just breathe…”
My voice soaks into her, even without words, and she trembles, then slowly softens.
“Such a good girl. That’s right. Relax.”
I won’t make that mistake again—even though my abdomen throbs and spasms, itching to curl under and toward her. The tip of my cock has spread the chitin plates at the end of my abdomen, and I feel it dripping onto the floor.
Good thing I’ve always been a man of focus.
I switch breasts, relieving the worst of the pressure.
Fuck, she tastes incredible. I had no idea what I was missing.
Every cell of my being craves her flavor, her heat.
I’ll quickly drain these small teats—which is good for Celeste’s condition—but I’ll soon ensure they grow and develop properly under my care.
Now, all that’s needed is patience.
I gradually ramp up Celeste’s stimulation as I switch breasts, drawing her closer and closer to climax.
I finish draining one breast entirely, though it remains several times larger than it was before. I switch to her other, drinking steadily, nuzzling into her soft breast as I carefully work her clitoris between my thumb and two inserted fingers.
Her moans get higher in pitch and closer together, and her muscles grip tighter and tighter around me.
What remains in the teat in my mouth is a small enough amount for her to get out during her climax, so I hum around her, sending rumbling vibrations through her nipple and breast.
Her cunt flutters around my fingers, then clenches hard as a wail pours from her lungs. She cries out with every spasm of her muscles, squirting the last of her milk down my throat as I suck with all the greed and hunger I’ve been holding back.
My hand slides around her waist, supporting her back as I press my cheek against her breast, forcing out the last of her milk.
She’s so small and frail, yet gives so much.
I’ll make sure she has everything she could ever need and so much more.
Her body finally shudders and goes limp. I leave my fingers where they are as her inner contractions continue, gradually getting weaker and further apart.
When they still, she lets out a sigh and her eyes flutter shut.
I gently remove the bindings from her arms and legs.
I’ve lost track of the compressive sleeve Sylvus knit for her breasts, and I certainly don’t feel like finding a scrap of silk on a silk floor.
So, I lift Celeste from the sling and press her back to my chest, scooping up her softened breasts in my hand to support them.
Her head relaxes against my neck as she curls up, safe and secure in my warmth.
The most perfect creature.
I know it in my core…
I will not rest until she’s totally and completely mine.