“Okay, I get it: instead of staring when your bikini had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction, I should’ve told you,” I said, hoping my wife would accept the apology. “Being busty is harder than it looks, I get that now. So could you change me back?”
“Why on Earth would I want to do that?” she said, sarcasm in her tone. “I thought you liked boobs?”
“I do! But not when they’re on MY chest! They’re so big and heavy…” my voice trailed off as I prodded my breasts. They felt so tender all of a sudden, and almost…sloshy? “And where did all these veins come from? My jugs were smooth less than an hour ago,” I wondered more to myself than to my wife. “They look almost like-“
“Udders? I know.” I looked up from my breasts as my wife spoke. “U-udders?” I stuttered out, backing against the railing and staring at my chest, my face a mix of confusion and fear.
My wife nodded. “Yes, udders. You know, like a cow? You see, that potion I gave you to turn you into a woman doesn’t come from nowhere! I have to make it. Well, I don’t: my cows do.”
“But I-I’m your husband?!”
“Funny, that’s what my last five husbands said when I did the exact same thing to them,” she paused for a moment to grab a bucket, and a stool. “But what does that matter? I make a fortune off this milk: do you know what people will pay to change someone into a busty woman? Of course, after a while their breasts start to fill up with the milk, usually after a few days, and by then it’s too late. It will be permanent.”
Permanent. This is my new body, forever. I reached up, and hefted one of my new breasts. Then a thought occurred to me:
“What happened to your other husbands?” I asked, afraid of the answer.
“They stopped giving me milk. It doesn’t last forever. After a few years your tits will stop producing milk. They’ll get flat and saggy, just like when a cow’s udder is empty. You basically have two of those on your chest now,” she smirked. “Now get over here and get on all fours, tits over the bucket: it’s milking time.”
I did as she said, my udders dangling over the bucket. She reached over with a cold hand, and started squeezing my breasts. It felt so good. Even though my tits were tender, and I felt a bit of pain, it felt amazing to empty them out.
After about half an hour she patted my nude ass, and stood up, taking the bucket with her. “That’s good for now. I’ll tell you when your next milking is, but until then stay in the house.” I nodded, stood up, and looked at my tits. They were much less full, and definitely sagged lower than before. I knew they would fill back up eventually, but what about in a few years, when I stopped making milk completely? My “wife” would abandon me then, and go looking for another victim…