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“Please do try to calm down, my dear. I know this all seems very intimidating, but, well. You really did bring this upon yourself by being so difficult,” Dr Stier explains in her cold German accent that betrays only the slightest hint of her enjoyment.
The Doctor’s words do nothing to calm you, especially as your mind is free from the drugs she has pumped you full of for weeks. Yet no matter how much you struggle, the iron grip of two drone-orderlies keeps you locked in place, with the added assistance of your tightly bound straightjacket, of course
“Fuck you!” You yell.
“The eloquence you show with your words is impressive, as always.” Dr Stier takes a stride towards you, though she steps just short of headbutt range. A lesson you taught her last week. “A shame that you won't have use of such an impressive vocabulary for long.” The smirk that spreads across her face is far from the cool, clinical expressions you've come to expect from her. It is sadistic and cruel. It tells you how much she is going to enjoy whatever new “treatment” she's going to put you through.
Despite the futility, you continue your struggle. The grip of the drones is constant and overwhelmingly powerful. Are they even human? Well, were they even human?
“While I have done my best to work with you and to offer you a bespoke program to help you work towards your true self, my superiors would prefer immediate results, my dear. Even if it means I must resort to over-the-top methods.” She boops your nose gently. One of her little quirks. “Are the perfect subject for more extreme measures.”
Still struggling, you shout in retort, “What the fuck else can you do to me? You've already done so much bullshit and here I fucking am. Still me!” You hope the defiance in your voice sounds unshakeable. They have put you through a lot. Drugs, therapy, hypnosis. You're not entirely sure what it has done to your mind, but you're sure you're still the person you were.
“Ah. I do apologise for not adequately explaining the different treatment plans and levels of intensity we have here at the Ashford Institute. The minutiae of such goes right over most patients' empty little heads.” Even her gentle laugh makes her sound no less like a supervillain.
“You, my pet project, were deemed to only need minimal, hm, how to say? Encouragement! That's the word! Encouragement to find your true self.” The Doctor's tone grows in excitement. How un-stereotypically German. “It seems we misjudged you, however. For which, I do truly apologise. All that suffering and struggling on your part could've been avoided--and an awful lot of paperwork on mine--if we had started here.”
The two of you stare at one another for a few long moments. As angry as you are, you can't help your curiosity wanting to know. “And what exactly are we doing here?” You ask through gritted teeth.
It's obvious Doctor Stier was waiting for you to ask. She knows you too well. “I was hoping you'd ask!” The colder, clinical side of her is almost entirely gone. Excitement will do that, you suppose.
Stepping away from you, the Doctor flips a light switch, illuminating the back end of what you assumed was just another medical examination room. She strides over to some kind of contraption. At first, it looks like some kind of cage, but it is merely the sturdy metal supports in each corner making it appear so. A gesture from the Doctor causes the drones to drag you towards it as if you weighed nothing at all.
The closer you get, the clearer it becomes that someone (I wonder who) would--someone will--be strapped into the device on their hands and knees. There are various wires, tubes, and other strange-looking things that you don't understand. As well as a built-in tablet, which appears to be displaying controls.
The look of pride plastered across the smug bitch’s face is sickening. “Beautiful, isn't it? I still don't have a name for it. Bitch-Breaker seems inappropriate, and I'm certain the canine ward has made use of that. Cow-Maker doesn't have much of a ring to it. Ah. Something will come to me.”
“Cow-Maker?” You didn't mean to say the words aloud. Once again, your curiosity got the better of you.
“You like the name?” She cocks her head, seeming to genuinely think that's what you had meant, before she frowns, then laughs. “Wait. Oh, my dear. Perhaps I have overestimated your intelligence. That, or my treatments have done more work than I thought. Do you truly not know why you are here?” Her tone is borderline gleeful and utterly mocking. Still a jarring shift from her normal, cold personality.
“I…” You try to answer but draw a blank. Why are you here? “I don't--You kidnapped me! You tortured me!” You yell defensively.
Before you can manage to shout out any expletives, a finger to her lips from the Doctor has one of the drones clamping a latex-clad hand over your mouth. It's smooth, yet cold and inhuman. What the fuck are those things?
“You, mein liebchen, are here on the Bovine Ward at the Ashford Institute to become your true self. Which we judged to be a happy, docile hucow.” The sadistic smile that spreads across her lips and the shift of the look in her eyes is the first thing to send an actual jolt of fear through your body.
Muffled yelps escape your mouth, but the drone’s grip tightens, further silencing you.
“A shame to see that you are afraid of becoming your true self.” Yeah, *that's* what you're afraid of. “No matter, this device will get rid of all of that. Drones.” The Doctor gestures to the device, making her order clear.
Moving more like machines than people, the drones carry you forward. Despite the hopelessness of your situation, you resist with every last ounce of strength you can muster. A fact that the Doctor appears to enjoy.
You're forced onto your knees into the device. One drone brings your torso down, almost slamming your head into the device’s floor. The other, from what you can feel, is strapping your legs in place with a series of heavy-duty medical restraints. Each one is tight. Each one restricts your movement further. Each one adds to your sinking hopelessness.
With your legs entirely secured, the two drones move to your straightjacket. It is unbuckled with inhuman efficiency and your hands are free for the first time in recent memory. For all of five seconds. Then, they are also strapped in place. Unlike your legs being held down against the device’s floor, your arms are affixed to two of the supports, leaving you bent at somewhat of an awkward angle.
Before your head is affixed into place by a clamp around your neck and several straps, you realise how utterly exposed this position leaves you. Naked and helpless.
With you unable to escape, the drones set about finishing more of the straps, clamps, and restraints to restrict your movement even further. As a small blessing, they add supportive straps around your chest that bear most of your weight. The aching muscles of your arms are grateful for that.
In only a few efficient minutes, you are entirely restrained within and to the device. Your knees and feet on its floor. Your arms high enough on the supports to expose your chest, while still ensuring your behind is pushed up and out. It all seems perfectly adjusted to someone of your exact size.
While not completely unable to move, there is little you can do, except wiggle.
“Nice and comfy?” The Doctor doesn't wait for an answer. “Now for the real fun. Ah, I mean the real treatment, of course.” The same sadistic laugh escapes her.
The drones step back and the Doctor moves in. Her probing hands attach various electrodes across your skin. You've grown accustomed to the uncomfortable mix of clinical, yet invasively sexual. She lingers too long. Touching, grabbing, teasing. And you are completely, utterly, irresistibly helpless to resist.
While the Doctor is no less efficient than normal, she does take her time. You note that there's special attention paid to your chest.
After putting on a thick pair of medical gloves (why wasn't she wearing those before? You know why.), she applies some kind of cream or something to your nipples and breasts. It's hard to tell what it is, but its effects are nearly immediate.
Your little breasts feel like they're on fire, but not with pain or discomfort. With want. A want to be touched and grabbed. The movement of the air across the skin of your nipples leaves you shuddering. Despite your best efforts, you can't stifle your moans, even by biting your lip.
“R&D has been refining and perfecting this stuff for months. Good, isn't it?”
The Doctor tweaks one of your nipples, rolling it between her thumb and index finger to get a moaned, incoherent response out of you. That touch alone almost made you cum. Not letting you cum, or helping you get close, but forcing it. While the horny desire is present between your legs, it's odd that it's far more focused on your chest.
You want more. You need more. But you won't let that bitch win. You've resisted everything else. You grit your teeth. It takes a huge exertion of will to continue to fight against the burning want and desire in your chest.
Doctor Stier goes to remove the gloves still slick with whatever they just applied to you, then stops. “You know, this wasn't in the protocol I drew up, but science is about experimentation. And besides, you have been my favourite patient for a while, so I suppose I can offer you a treat in this trying time.”
A fucking treat? What? Your thoughts are too clouded for you to collect them into speech, but your confusion seems to show on your face.
“This ointment has quite a few special properties, most of which you shouldn't worry yourself with. Increasing sensitivity is the one I'm sure you are blissfully aware of, however.” She squeezes your breast, and again, it feels like you're going to cum, or perhaps you do. It's so overwhelming you don't even know anymore.
“I had planned to use it on just your chest, but, well…” Doctor Stier steps around behind you. You realise a moment too late what she's up to. Not that you could've done anything to stop her.
One gloved hand presses inside your rear as the other rubs the gel into your already sensitive genitals. Even without the gel, her well-practised fingers would feel fantastic. With it, you can't stop a shuddering orgasm rocking through your body in only a few seconds.
After a satisfied chuckle, Dr Stier removes her hands, leaving the same burning needs and sensitivity between your legs that afflicts your chest. Cumming did nothing to remove or even ease the feeling. It only made the feeling worse.
You are barely able to focus on anything outside of your own body's new burning needs to be touched, but the Doctor steps back into view.
The gloved fingers that applied the gel to your genitals appear by your lips. Even the scent of whatever the fuck compound is is enticing, but you are desperate to avoid giving Dr Stier the submission she desires.
“The last choice you're going to get. Isn't that fun?” She mockingly questions. “You can willingly lick my fingers clean and make that pretty mouth just as sensitive as here.” Another tweak to your nipple that sends a mind-bending jolt through you. “Or, you can say no. This whole process will continue. *However*, in that case, I would have to follow my original protocol and leave that need between your legs alone. For hours and hours. Nothing to ease it. I'm told some rest subj--patients have gone mad with want.”
The gloved fingers hover right at your lips. “So, little cow, what will it be?”
You can't give her the satisfaction. You won't. You just can't. The need is maddening, though. You're not sure how long you should stand minutes of this, let alone hours. But you hate her. You won't. You *can't*.
The fingers inch back from your lips. Involuntarily, your lips part, as if puppeteered by your horniness.
Not wasting the opportunity, Dr Stier pushes two fingers into your mouth. They split, shift, and move, spreading the gel everywhere. She even forces them to the back of your throat.
Before you can come to your senses and bite down on your tormentor’s fingers, you find yourself hungrily sucking on them. What are you doing? Stop! Your mind cries, but it feels too good. Her fingers thrusting in and out feelings like a rolling orgasm that rises higher and higher. You can't help yourself.
The Doctor says something about a recording for R&D, something you're too pleasure-drunk to comprehend. You only wish the other parts of you burning with need could get the same attention.
Dr Stier removing her fingers from your mouth elicits a pained, desperate whine. That whine continues into needy noises as your body realises the vibrations from your throat feel amazing.
“All that effort and you fold to cumming. I'd say that's pathetic, but there's not much of you that cares at this point. Now, onto your actual treatment.”
This wasn't even the treatment???
The Doctor attaches some kind of suction cup to each of your small breasts. While you can't look down to see them, it weirdly feels like they are designed to expand, and are connected to tubes. Whatever the case, they feel amazing, forcing another whimper from you.
With your mouth still hanging hungrily open, Dr Stier has little trouble strapping what looks like an anaesthesia or oxygen mask around your head. Though, it has quite a key difference in that it has a short dildo attached.
What's left of your focused mind rages against something so humiliating, but your body hungry licks at the small dildo. It feels incredible to have your mouth filled. You only wish it were bigger. And trusting. And attached to someone. Horny thoughts flash through your mind.
A pink gas travels up the tube connected to the mask. There's nothing you can do to avoid breathing it in. It smells and tastes somewhat akin to a very sweet milk. The resistance to breathing in the wonderful gas fades away after only a few breaths. It's so nice. And it makes you so foggy, everything so foggy. What was happening again? Oh, right! The Doctor Lady was trying to turn you into a hucow! And you were worried about that! Yea! Definitely worried! Why though…?
The more you breathe, the fuzzier and foggier your thoughts become. Another sensation rapidly takes their place. Your chest feels as though it is swelling and growing. Not cartoonishly fast or instantly, but noticeably. And it feels so, so good.
The Doctor Lady steps back into your view, saying something you don't catch. No, something you don't understand. Eh, you understand isn't important, right?
“That's a good cow. Just breathe in and out.” You understood her that time!! Good cow! Why does that make you feel funny? You're a…You're a person. Right?
The nice Doctor Lady lowers some kind of visor over your eyes and headphones over your ears. Surprisingly comfortable, all things considered.
Pretty swirls and messages flicker across the screen as mostly incomprehensible, but relaxing noise plays through the headphones. The sensible part of your mind is too clouded by pleasure and the sweet gas to make you close your eyes or fight back. Why fight anyway? You're comfy. Your body feels incredible. You get to look at pretty things. The only thing wrong is the need between your legs and the ache in your still-swelling chest.
The ache is solved first by the pumps attached around your nipples being turned on. You're still growing, but already you feel the tiniest trickle of milk leak out of you. And it feels *incredible*. Indescribably so. Not only in terms of pleasure; it feels right. Like this is where you belong. Even if a fussy part of your mind is screaming about something.
Restrained as you are, you can only moan and wiggle to indicate your desire to have the need between your legs helped as much as the one in your chest and mouth.
At some point, your whines are answered by a slippery plug being inserted into your ass. Your breasts, mouth, and ass all feel heavenly. Like a non-stop orgasm that only rises higher and higher, never hitting the point of being boring or too much. It only makes you want more. Need more.
Something is strapped to your leg and pressed to your genitals after a few moments of handsy effort by someone. Disappointing compared to the lovely, filling plug. And then it starts to buzz. Another source of heavenly bliss making you shudder in your restraints.
A joyful few seconds later, the plug buried inside you buzzes too. It, and whatever is strapped to your leg, vibrate in a cooperative pattern, somehow making both feel exponentially more intense.
Filled and strapped to multiple devices, your mind sinks and drops into pleasure. Why resist what feels this good? And the lights and comfy sounds remind you how right it feels! You're a cow. Cows get milked. Milking feels amazing. And it does. So, so amazing. So, obviously, you're a cow! Duh!!
“Goodbye, my favourite patient.” The Doctor’s tone is sadistic. Cow doesn't understand, but you do. You know what is happening, even as you try to cling to the scraps of your mind, or to form any kind of resistance against the overwhelming onslaught. This is it. It's over.
The Cow isn't sure how much time passes, but silly things like that don't matter to the Cow. Not while getting milked especially! That's what cows are for!! Why else would it feel perfect and right? The buzzy thingies and things in the cow feel so good too! But most of all, the Cow is so full of milk and desperate to be milked, to be helpful, to be used. That's all the Cow needs.