Jennifer’s breasts ached as she moved. That was alright, though. She liked that.

Lifting her arms above her head with a sigh, she slowly moved her body into the next yoga pose. Bending her forward leg, she stretched the other out behind her, the motion naturally making her upper body curve to push out her sore, heavy chest. Both of her breasts lifted as she raised her arms, sending little sparkles of pain up her spine. Biting her lip, she forced herself to hold the pose, even though the damp spot on her yoga pants was already down to mid thigh.

Ever since she had hit puberty, Jennifer had been particularly well endowed through the chest. Once she had begun to develop, she’d filled out quickly, reaching a C-cup before some of her peers were even out of training bras. This had made her an object of some envy in the early years of high school, alongside a few other fortunate girls with a similar physique. However, where the growth of other girls had stopped, Jennifer’s breasts had kept going. While other large-chested girls began to show signs of sagging or lopsidedness, she stayed pert even as she bought her first E-cup bra, the size of each breast in perfect symmetry. At reaching an F-cup, Jennifer’s parents had started to worry about back issues, and taken her to a doctor for recommendations about a reduction. She’d viciously fought against the possibility, though mostly out of a rebellious urge rather than any real sense of pride in her chest, and so instead of surgery had instead been given a strict exercise routine to strengthen her core.

Every day since then, Jennifer had worked out diligently to maintain a strong abdomen and lower back, and as a result had never experienced so much as a twinge of backache from her breasts. As an added ‘side effect’ of her daily workout, she also maintained a healthy weight with ease, staying fit and energetic all through her life. Now an adult, her body had filled out into a top-heavy curve, with wide hips that were still overshadowed by her ridiculously massive bust. Though she’d finished growing, she’d had to begin buying specialty N-cup bras to hold her chest in check, each firm, high breast fully larger than her head. If she lifted her tits up with her arms, she didn’t even have to bend her neck to bring her puffy pink nipples within reach of her own lips.

Reaching a count of forty in her head, Jennifer shifted to the next pose. Her arms spread out in a ‘T’, one pointed ahead of her, the other behind. Her legs were to stay in the same position as the previous pose, though she shifted from her left leg being in front, instead stretching it behind and bending her right leg before her, knee making a nearly 90 degree angle. Having her arms pointed forward and back like this made her torso twist slightly to the side, one bicep pressing against the side of her voluptuous breast. The bare skin was tight and firm, noticeably hotter than the flesh of her arm. She shivered in arousal, then started to count again.

With such perfect and oversized breasts, Jennifer had been the object of intense male attention ever since freshman year. Naturally shy, she’d rejected the advances of her classmates for a long time, going so far as to shun public socializing almost completely outside of school. Instead, she had turned to the internet for her social needs, immersing herself in many cultures and hobbies, learning about things online while meeting a lot of new people. For the most part this had been a very good experience, and had helped her to avoid the stress and embarrassment of being constantly ogled, her online friends having no clue about her extreme endowment.

However, in all her browsing, she had also come across something that every young person soon finds online. Pornography.

Down that rabbit hole had come an exposure to ideas and kinks that the young Jennifer had never dreamed of in her wildest pubescent fantasies. She saw her first cock in high-definition detail, wide eyes taking it in upon her screen. In videos and pictures, she found women with breasts even larger than her own, giving her a certain sense of security in knowing she wasn’t the only one in the world who was so extremely endowed. As she continued to browse, she had homed in on the things that turned her on most, finding them from amid the limitless spectrum of debauchery available online. Certain fetishes attracted her over and over, slowly sticking to her growing sexuality and becoming integral parts of it. Unsurprisingly, these kinks had all focused heavily upon her breasts.

It was time to reposition again. Knowing her routine by heart, Jennifer felt a faint sense of trepidation, fully expecting this pose to be the hardest 40 seconds of her day. Straightening up, she carefully moved her entire body into a long vertical line, arms upraised and legs together. Then, precariously balancing on one foot, she tilted her torso forward and one leg back, until her entire body was a lopsided ‘T’ shape with her pelvis forming the juncture. The position made the wet fabric of her yoga pants rub up against her pantiless pussy, and her heavy breasts threatened to pull her off balance as they hung. Her supporting leg trembled, making her chest jiggle and causing little waves of pain to move through her, which in turn sent shivers of arousal up her spine. Jennifer let herself begin to moan as she held the pose, softly and repetitively, focusing on the throbbing in her chest and pussy. A current of pain and pleasure sparked between them like negative and positive terminals on a battery, surging with each beat of her heart.

It was impossible to count how many times over her life she’d cum to a video of breast abuse, watching a girl with tits like hers getting them beaten and bruised, pierced or cut, whipped or tied. Some of this she’d carefully tried on herself while alone. These experiments had quickly lead her to discover something about herself, a revelation that appeared in her mind as she choked on cries of pain, tears running down her cheeks while she came harder than she ever had in her life. While she’d known she was a masochist almost as soon as she’d found BDSM porn, she’d learned that hurting her tits turned her on like nothing else. Perhaps because of the sexual attention they garnered, her breasts had become something obscene in her mind, a nexus for all her perverted desires and feelings.

As she explored her masochism more and more, Jennifer slowly became fascinated with the idea of being mistreated because of her huge tits, addressed and used like some sex toy instead of a person. Though she’d refrained from relationships, she found that she loved the idea of being someone’s slut, worth no more than the pleasure her body could give. In her fantasies, her breasts marked her for what she was, and were a focal point of any degradation and mistreatment at the hands of her master. When she was feeling particularly horny and experimental, she’d write filthy things on them in marker, or practice giving submissive titjobs to one of her dildos, spitting onto her cleavage for lubrication.

Finally reaching the count of forty, Jennifer let her trembling body relax out of the torturous posture. A small whine escaped her lips as she placed her back foot against the ground once more, forming an upside-down ‘V’ with her legs. The shift of weight had made her chest throb, but it was nothing compared to the pain that ran through her when she next moved, twisting her torso to the side and spreading her arms. One hand touched her forward foot, the other trembling arm pointed up towards the ceiling. As her breasts had gone from hanging straight down to hanging almost sideways, they’d bounced against each other, sending such an ache of agony through Jennifer that she almost collapsed.

Even more exciting than either of her earlier fetishes, however, was a more recent sexual fascination.

After graduating from college, Jennifer had reconnected with an old friend. The young woman had already started a family, and though Jennifer had different plans for her own life, she didn’t necessarily disapprove. She’d played with the cute baby, endured some breastfeeding jokes from her friend’s husband, and spent a week doing some babysitting to let the newlyweds have some alone time.

Around that time, she had started lactating.

This had concerned her slightly, along with evoking other, more complicated emotions. Looking it up online, she’d found that exposure to a newborn baby could make some women lactate, a supposed sympathetic response brought on by pheromones. For her it had come on especially quickly, it seemed.

Even after she’d stopped caring for the baby, she’d continued to express milk. Intrigued more than she’d expected to be, she’d squeeze out a few drops of pure whiteness from her puffy nipples each day, and the routine had kept her leaking. More and more started to come out as she started to milk herself while watching lactation porn, offering to do her friend’s laundry in the hopes that exposure to the pheromones in the clothes would keep her milky. Together these increased her production enough that she had to start wearing pads in her bra when she went out, though since she mostly worked from home that was a rare need. In private, she’d go around in a t-shirt and bra, waiting until the milk stains showed through, then masturbating furiously while roughly milking herself.

It was time for the resting poses, and Jennifer lowered herself into the first of them with a shudder of relief. Her body ached from the exercise, but it was nothing compared to how her naked breasts throbbed. Placing herself on hands and knees, arms straight and shins against the floor, she looked down at her own chest. They’d been N-cups before, and she’d never expected them to grow any bigger. Now, they were large O’s.

In time, her burgeoning new fetish had grown into an obsession.

She’d bought a pump first, starting to use it to milk herself every day. Usually, she’d have a vibrating wand pressed against her pussy the entire time her milk was pouring out, watching it spurt from herself with a low moan of arousal coming from her throat. Soon she had become infatuated with the idea of producing as much milk as she could, and acquired some medicine and supplements through sometimes questionable means. Estradiol, domperidone, fenugreek – anything that she thought could increase that warm, delicious flow from her nipples. Adjustments to her diet had let her keep up the constant outlet of nutritious milk, and though her body had still increased slightly in weight, it was all to the benefit of her curves.

Combined with the constant milking and her natural breast size, after three months of lactating Jennifer had eventually measured herself at an average output of 115 oz per day. Nearly a gallon of milk. It was so much that she’d started to have trouble disposing of it all, though eventually she’d located a milk bank willing to take donations. For her, it wasn’t about the milk itself, it was about the way it made her feel to produce it inside herself, then to let it out of her in great milky gushes or constant dripping flows. The sensation was not quite like being a cow… it was more like all she was was just a pair of breasts, and that they were doing what breasts were meant to do. It was an obscene thing, and she would shudder in orgasm each night imagining someone mocking her tits for their constant leaking, stepping on them so it spurted out harder, and similar mistreatment. Everything about lactating so much played into her other fetishes, and she felt like she never wanted to stop.

Pulling her knees beneath her body, Jennifer placed her arms before her as if praying towards the wall. Her breasts hung against the ground, tips brushing against the carpet. The sensation against her nipples was muted by the strips of waterproof black tape covering them, twin ‘X’es completely hiding the hard nubs. They sealed all milk from leaking from her, though it had taken a few tries to find the right kind of tape and right amount of coverage to accomplish that. It was her preferred way of preventing herself from expressing, on the rare occasions she didn’t want to. Whenever she could, she’d often go around her house constantly dripping, staining a shirt, or simply spraying milk while not even having to touch herself.

It had been about month of constant extreme milk production since she’d hit her peak, with her body was only getting better at enduring it each day. It was to the point that she could lactate for hours if she simply let herself leak, constant streams of white dripping down her nipples onto a towel pressed against her belly. If she wanted to prevent herself from soaking through her shirt when she went out, her only options were to milk herself empty with pumps beforehand, or to tape up her nipples. Whenever she chose the latter, she could always feel the pressure building inside, an exciting sensation that made her feel almost as hot as if she were lactating in public. Whenever she finally got home and took off the tape, she would release all her stored milk in a rush, a sensation that never failed to leave her wet and panting.

However, she still yearned for more. In achieving her body’s maximum possible lactation, she felt she had become what she was always meant to be, yet she still had been the only one to enjoy the pleasures of her obscenely massive, milky tits. She wanted to feel another’s rough hands squeezing the hot white spray from her nipples, delivering the harsh abuse that her body deserved. Looking at her creamy pale tits, she would imagine them bruised and battered, bitten and written on. Despite her attractive qualities, she was still a virgin, having never even been seen naked by a man. The thought of her first sexual contact being casual, degrading, even painful… it was more enticing to her than she knew it should be.

Turning slowly, Jennifer rolled herself onto her back, staring up at the ceiling and panting softly as she splayed out, adopting the final pose. With her limbs spread, her breasts hung heavy from her chest, massively engorged with milk. It had been two days since she last let herself express, though she had still continued with her regular diet and medication routine. Two days each where she could have milked out nearly a creamy gallon from her tits, and instead had left her nipples taped, holding the sweet liquid in. She hadn’t gone so long without milking herself since she had first begun to lactate, now nearly a quarter year ago. The temptation to release had been hard to resist, growing harder with each hour that her breasts’ fullness increased, making them them more and more achingly tender to the touch. It had to be let out soon, and would be.

Two weeks ago, Jennifer had filmed herself doing yoga in just her pants, much as she was now, but without her nipples taped. Without them sealed, she had leaked in a constant spray throughout her entire half-hour long routine, her arousal visibly increasing as her tight yoga pants soaked at her pussy. Part of her excitement that day had been knowing someone would watch the video, but mostly it was just the feeling of milk leaking out of her, the flow unceasing and uncontrolled. Being on camera like that made her feel as if she were just a pair of breasts, meant to make milk and look sexy, toy tits for someone to enjoy.

After appending a small speech prior to the yoga show, in which she’d professionally explained her desires and ideas, she’d submitted the video to a local BDSM club under the title ‘Breast Milk Masochism’. Her face had been blurred, the focus entirely on her body… a slow buildup of anticipation, a slow release of milk, both of them constant as she moved and displayed herself in the semisexual poses of yoga. Then, at the end…

Lying flat on her back, Jennifer reached the count of forty, and her routine ended. She lay there for a moment longer, remembering what she’d done at the end of the video at this point in her exercise, replaying it in her head. The memory made her arousal flare, and a sudden urge overtook her, irresistible to her after the torturous teasing she’d just put herself though. Raising a shaky hand up, she bit her lip, closing her eyes as she braced herself. Then, with the lewd sound of flesh smacking flesh, she slapped her right tit as hard as she possibly could, weakly crying out in pain. She almost imagined she could feel the milk in her breast slosh as the heavy tit rippled and swayed from the impact, so large that the waves bounced back and forth through the firm flesh. Sharp agony had coursed through her at the hit, making her jerk, but now the pain was only a hot, stinging ache that pulsed in intensity to the beat of her heart.

She slapped herself again, sobbing as the pain hit, tears running down her cheeks as her fingertips tapped her hard, taped nipple. The tips of her breasts were unspeakably sensitive, and she pressed her hand over the agonized flesh, filled with a desire to rip the tape off and milk herself until she had nothing left. Barely resisting the urge, she whacked her cupped palm against the underside of the same tit, choking off a fresh round of sobs as the aching flesh was pushed upward, jiggling and making her full milk glands throb.

In the video, Jennifer had been much more extensive with her abuse, paddling and punching her own breasts, never even touching her pussy as she subjected her lactating tits to everything short of torture. By the time she was done, they had been bruised and reddened, swollen from pain and stained with tears and milk. The white puddle in front of Jennifer had looked as if someone had spilled a full glass of milk on the floor, a result of her squirting out harder with each impact. In the end, she’d cum just from hurting her breasts, a final wet twist of her puffy pink nipple sending her over the edge.

Trying to do the same to herself now was too dangerous, engorged as she was. Yet, the three slaps to her milk-swollen breasts had hurt more than the entirety of her torture during the recording. Jennifer felt herself trembling at the brink of masochistic orgasm, unable to muster the will to hurt herself again. If she could only milk herself, let herself express, she knew she could cum from letting that sweet flow out through her aching nipples. But, she couldn’t… not yet.

Instead, Jennifer reached down, touching her hard clit through the soaked fabric of her yoga pants. A simple brush of the fingers was all it took, and she was crying out, pressing hard against the sensitive nub as her back arched and her heavy breasts heaved. The shock of pleasure through her body filled her up, her muscles tensing, mouth open in an ‘o’ of ecstasy as she cramped even as she came, the hot hurting of her tits making her ache in a way that had nothing to do with their painful fullness or her stinging slaps.

The wave of climax slowly ebbed, and Jennifer slumped back against the scant softness of the yoga mat, breathing heavily. Slowly, the aches and cramps started to fade, the tiredness in her limbs giving way to an energetic need to move. Her excitement had been growing with each moment she came closer to tonight, starting from the moment she had received an confirmation from the BDSM club she had submitted to, inviting her to come and give their members a practical demonstration of her submission. She had been storing up her milk ever since she had gotten the letter, wanting to have as much to leak out as she could during her first night at the club.

Attached to Jennifer’s invitation had been a small brass key, with a short secondary note containing instructions on where to go and when. She wasn’t a full member yet, merely an initiate. Her prospects of being invited again depended upon how she presented herself tonight, how well the people of the club enjoyed her. She almost didn’t care. All she wanted was the experience of having her milk-laden tits at the mercy of others.

Lying there on the ground with her body thrumming with excitement and aching afterglow, Jennifer ran her hands over her huge, full breasts, biting her lip at the pleasant feeling. Her warmup was finished, and the pain and pleasure of it had only left her thirsting for more. The club would open in an hour, and she would be allowed in not long after.

It was time to get ready.

—

Jennifer was used to people staring at her when she went out. Men, women, and even children. With breasts like hers protruding almost a foot from her front, it was impossible not to attract attention, regardless of how she dressed or acted. Typically, all this attention did was make her feel self-conscious, though if she was in a rare exhibitionist mood, people looking at her tits might turn her on a little.

However, walking now down a cold city street with her body covered by only a trenchcoat and a pair of high heels, each little glance hit her like a physical touch. She felt like everyone could see right through the thick trenchcoat, her naked body beneath feeling hot and flushed despite the chill wind blowing through the crowd. Her nipples were hard beneath their tape, and whenever someone bumped up against her she would bite her lip to keep from crying out at the sensation, pain and pleasure both coursing through her.

Each step she took towards the club brought her closer to sweet release, and it was hard to keep herself from pushing through the crowd, sprinting down towards the alleyway she was headed for. In her pocket, her trembling fingers tightly gripped the small brass key she’d been sent. Hot wetness trickled down her bare inner thighs, and she wondered what would await her. Really, she had no idea. The note had been vague, only letting her know that her wish to have her tits abused would be fulfilled, and not to worry about any mess she might make with her milk. It had made no demands as to how she should dress, or anything to bring, save for herself and the key. All she knew was where to go.

After what seemed like hours of walking, but what her phone told her had only been 5 minutes, Jennifer stumbled into the alley on shaky legs. Her tits throbbed, her pussy twitching in response, her need at a fever pitch. She wanted to be milked, to be hurt, to cum. Partially, she knew that she’d done this to herself on purpose, denied herself from milking so that she would be able to overcome her shyness and let someone else do it. Her arousal was making her bolder than she would be, the lust filling her body and making her willing to do almost anything for that sweet, sexual release.

Passing by a bouncer guarding the mouth of the alleyway, she halfway took her key from her pocket before he nodded, jerking his head towards a door further down. She murmured her thanks, blushing deeply as she clutched her trenchcoat, embarrassment making her feel as if she had to keep it tightly closed despite the fastened buttons.

Opening the door, she found a small room with two hallways leading off it, the welcoming warmth of air conditioning rushing up inside her trenchcoat. Suddenly feeling a relaxation come over her, Jennifer inspected a large handwritten sign that had been mounted on the wall, elegantly flowing listing directions in chalk upon slate.

“Breeder – Room 1, Left Hall”

“Milk Slut – Room 3, Left Hall”

“Femdom Group – Room 2, Right Hall”

“New Slave – Last Door, Right Hall”

Smiling slightly at her unknown companions on the list, Jennifer went left, letting go of her trenchcoat and taking out the key. Her heavy tits bounced with every step of her high heels, but she relished the pain without wincing at it, knowing it was only a tiny taste of what was to come.

After passing two doors in the dimly lit hall, Jennifer turned with a pounding heart towards the third, looking down at the engraved brass handle. Slotting her key inside, she twisted it, then pushed the handle down.

Part of her almost expected it not to work. That she’d have to go home unfulfilled, or seek out help while dressed in nothing but a coat. Instead, the door swung open with ease, giving Jennifer her first look of the room where her slutty tits would finally be given what they deserved.

It was sparsely furnished, the carpet of the hall giving way to polished marble floor. There was a drain in one corner, and the walls were covered in textured leather cushioning. Hooks in the ceiling intrigued her, but it was impossible for her to ignore the one feature in the room clearly meant for her to use.

Jessica closed the door behind her, approaching the far wall with breath held. Kneeling down, she ran her fingers around the outside of one of the two holes cut into the wall, each as large around as a person’s head, placed so close together they were almost joined. The room she was in was dim, but little light shone in through the other side of the hole. She could hear quiet voices, smell the scents of sex coming in from that other room. It had to be filled with clubgoers, the kind of people who wouldn’t hesitate to abuse an obscene pair of tits like hers.

She shivered, kneeling in front of the tit-gloryhole, staring at it. Slowly, it came to her that they must be waiting on her, ready for their toy to show up so they could have their fun. Her pussy throbbed at the thought, and she began to fumble with the buttons of her trenchcoat, finally popping enough of them off that she could rip the garment free. With desperate hands, she started to press her breasts through the hole, shuffling forward on her knees so her body was pressed up against the wall. Despite their wideness, the holes weren’t big enough for her to fit through easily, and she had to knead the full, firm flesh through, pushing it through with her fingers until finally her chest was pressed directly against the leather-lined holes. Her body now was in one room, her tits in another. Exposed to strangers. Totally vulnerable, her position making it impossible to jerk away quickly.

A voice came over an unseen intercom, and Jessica jumped as it spoke in a distorted electronic voice. “The safe word is four hard knocks on the wall,” it informed her. “If you can endure 30 minutes, you will be reinvited.” It cut off with a crackle, and Jessica started to pant slightly, butterflies fluttering in her belly as she felt her huge milk-loaded tits hang against the other side of the wall. 30 minutes. Too bad she’d left her phone in her trenchcoat, a few feet away on the floor behind her. There was no other way to tell the time…

Something touched her nipple, and Jennifer froze. They continued to caress her hard nub through the tape, making her quiver as she pressed up against the wall, her nails digging into the soft leather. It felt like fingers, the first ones that were not her own to ever touch her chest. She thought whoever was on the other side must be able to hear her heart pounding, rapidly thrumming inside her as the tape was slowly peeled from one of her nipples.

Immediately, she felt the delicious sensation of milk pouring from her, a heavy dribble that ran hot down her skin. Letting out a moan, Jennifer started to slide a hand down to touch between her legs, instinct taking over as her arousal surged. Before she could move her fingers down far, they brushed a handle set into the wall, something she’d missed in her rush to get her breasts shoved through the gloryhole. Her mind focused on it briefly, and she made a sudden snap decision, gripping the handle. She wouldn’t touch herself. She hadn’t had to when she’d been abusing herself on camera, so she shouldn’t have to now. This was a club for masochists like her, and she should be the best little milk masochist she could be for these others.

As that thought resolved in her mind in the moment following her expression of milk, another pair of fingers ripped off the tape of her other nipple. Gasping, Jennifer felt both breasts leaking now, a heavy flow of milk pouring in hot fountains from her overfilled breasts. Between her legs, a rivulet of wetness ran down her thigh, a pale mirror to the multiple streams of milk coursing down her breasts and dripping onto the floor of the other room.

Enticed by the delicious sight, one of the clubgoers pressed a palm up against the underside of Jennifer’s left breast, causing a sudden spray of milk from the light pressure as they lifted the heavy flesh. Jennifer moaned, not holding anything back as she rested her forehead against the padded leather wall. Her fingers gripped the handles with white knuckles, her body trembling with eagerness. She could feel the hot milk exiting her fat, overloaded tit in a gout, the heavy flow feeling so good as it surged through her hard nipple, relieving the painful pressure inside.

A pair of lips wrapped around the tip of her breast, causing Jennifer’s eyes to snap open. She panted, the wet heat of another person’s mouth around her sensitive milky nipple making her squirm in pleasure. Then, they began to suck. A quiver of pure ecstasy ran through her, a pulsation of pleasure that swelled with each increase in the suction on her skin. Milk was drawn out of her so rapidly her nipple began to ache, the liquid almost feeling as if it were being torn from her nipple by the hard sucking. It completely filled the mouth of the unknown clubgoer more than twice, cupfuls of sweet whiteness expressed in a tingling pleasurable relief. Yet, even when the mouth popped from her wet skin, she could feel herself still leaking. It made her shiver in happiness at how far she’d pushed her body’s capacity to lactate, making herself into the perfect pair of toy tits for these people to play with.

Jennifer heard a feminine giggle come from the other side, then the feeling of a cool, smooth piece of curved glass pressing against her skin, collecting the dripping flow from her right nipple. A cup, perhaps held by a clubgoer who had too much dignity to drink straight from the source. Her right tit was still engorged, throbbing with a dull pain that sharpened suddenly as two delicate hands wrapped around it at the base. Slowly, they simultaneously squeezed her flesh and slid down her breast, moving towards the tip. Jennifer’s body started to shudder with pleasure, her mind blanking, focused entirely on the feeling of her breast being milked like an udder, her creamy milk filling up someone’s glass on the other side of the wall. Being used like a drink dispenser made her more wet than any amount of self-milking ever could, and she felt disappointed when the hands only gave her a single pull, though her breast felt more comfortable without being stuffed to capacity.

While her nipples were still tingling and wet from her mild milking, Jennifer felt the first touch of pain at the hands of the strangers. The leather tip of a riding crop snapped against her nipple without warning, the sharp biting sensation of its impact fading quickly into a warm ache as her breast jiggled. Though she’d known she’d be hurt, it came as a shock, and she realized she had been lucky even to get a teasing taste of pleasure before the abuse began. She bit her lip, trying to thrust her chest out for more, though her tits were already pushed as far into the other room as they could be. Another hit came, impacting her other nipple and sending a squirt of milk from her as she cried out at the agony. Her pussy convulsed, squeezing around nothing as the pain throbbed in the tender tip of her tit. Unconsciously, she braced herself for the next strike, eager for more.

But it was not the riding crop to hit her, when pain lanced through her next. Instead, a punch hit her soft, hanging flesh, and Jennifer let out a shocked sob, trailing off into a gasp of pleasure as her bruised flesh bounced. Another hit came, knocking one breast sharply against the other, the obscene sound of skin slapping together echoing in her ears as she felt her milk spray with each impact. This was everything she’d ever wanted, milking and abuse, objectification and casual use. Whoever was on the other side was strong, a faceless brute that used her tits like punching bags without a hint of mercy. Over and over he struck her, and with each time the knuckles slammed into her soft flesh, she imagined the bruises she would bear. Marring her perfect creamy skin, covering her beautiful, massive breasts. It was enough to ignite her masochism to new heights, and she was disappointed when the strikes stopped coming. A part of her had wanted him to never stop, to keep going until her breasts were beat bloody.

“More,” she moaned, her mouth close to the wall. Her breasts throbbed, but with a new, hot pain instead of the dull ache from before. It made her want them to keep going, to abuse her until the pain built up to a climax. She was already close, so close. The excitement of it all had her body thrumming with arousal, her trembling thighs soaked with her wetness. Her nipples trembled with vibrations of each rapid beat of her heart, droplets of milk constantly weeping from her huge reddened tits. They still felt so full, full enough for hours of milking. “More!” she wept, not noticing the tears on her own cheeks.

Something small, soft and slightly wet pressed against her skin, a teasing touch that cooled the inflamed heat of her pummeled tits. It felt pleasant, and confused Jennifer in her lust-addled state as it began to slide across her tits, taking odd swirls across her flesh. It would pull away for the briefest moment, then return, making a few quick movements before doing the same thing again…

They were writing on her.

Another marker tip pressed against her skin on the other breast, the same tiny wet point of sensation, scratching out a word or two. She wished she could read what they were writing, know what they had labeled her as. Even imagining the possibilities made her rub her thighs together, whimpering at the need she felt to be hurt further. This was to tease her, she knew. A time for her arousal to cool before they stoked it high once again, for they knew she would enjoy this pain. Even without seeing her, they controlled her. And she loved it.

After a minute or so of writing, Jennifer felt something solid and flat slide beneath her breasts. It supported them, the curved undersides of her tits resting upon its surface, which seemed stable and sturdy. It all puzzled her for a moment, though she enjoyed the feeling of her milk puddling around her hot skin, as well as the burden this took off her back, strong though she was. Relishing these sensations, she found herself totally unprepared for when the next strike came.

A booted foot slammed down onto Jennifer’s left breast, spraying milk so hard from the sudden pressure that Jennifer thought her nipple might pop off. It crushed down on her flesh, and she screamed, hips convulsing as she was filled with the pain. The weight of the person stayed on her, and she felt the milk fountain from the breast under the boot. It was hot, the heavy flow squirting out in a single thick stream. It must look so pathetic, her hard nipple twitching as her tit was squished. Swallowing back a moan as she imagined it, Jennifer felt a pulse of heat in her pussy, riding the edge of climax as the heel of the foot ground against her.

When the boot finally lifted away, she didn’t beg to ask for more this time. They’d heard her pleas, and knew how to answer them. A high heel stabbed down into her other breast within moments, pressing down into the voluptuous flesh, forming a deep divot before the toe of the shoe came down upon her nipple. It crushed down on the sensitive nub, grinding it against the smooth surface. That was when the climax came. Pussy convulsing, squirting for the first time in her life, Jennifer lost all awareness of her body except for her breasts while that shoe danced and stepped over her expansive titflesh, the anonymous woman using her knowledge of feminine sensitivities to torture her with exacting sadism. Her hard nipples and clenching pussy ached with pain and pleasure, the hot release of milk from her breasts a sweet undercurrent of ecstasy throughout the brutal treatment of her chest. By the time her unknown mistress stepped down off of her, Jennifer felt several sharply aching spots over the tops of her breasts, places where the heel had plunged down onto her flesh. It had never broken the skin, but it had been close.

With her throbbing breasts now covered in a coating of their own milk, Jennifer caught her breath, feeling her body shaking in the aftermath of her orgasm. It had gone on so long that she had lost track of time, multiple shocks of agony lancing through her body to keep her climax peaking. Her breasts felt like tenderized meat, pummeled and stepped on, soaked and drawn upon. The surface they’d been resting on was taken away, leaving them to hang heavy against the wall once more. Jennifer hadn’t been able to see any of her brutal treatment, but in her mind’s eye she saw her breasts as bruised, battered, misshapen and ruined, defaced by slutty writing marked upon her skin. Despite how much she’d lost, she still had a faint dribble of milk leaking from each nipple, though she could feel she was mostly empty now. The thought of the puddle that must have formed beneath the tit gloryhole on the other side made her feel a warm glow of pride.

Her hands slipped from the handles, fingers aching from gripping so hard for so long. A few moments went by with only the throbbing of her tits to keep her company, and Jennifer began to wonder if her time was up. Had she passed? It was hard for her to judge time… the idea of it being over made her disappointed, but glad she had done so well.

While she was considering pulling her tits out of the hole a little so she could check the time on her phone, Jennifer was stopped by a new sensation, surprising her into stillness. Her fingers fluttered against the wall as she felt two hands cupping her huge chest, lifting the heavy hanging flesh. Biting her lip, Jennifer felt a moan rise in her throat as the two hands started to gently milk her, fingers running along the sensitive undersides of her breasts. As the last of her milk was slowly squeezed out, she gave in to temptation, panting softly as she started to finger herself. Her needy hole clenched around her own fingers, the feeling of being filled satisfying her body in a way even the masochistic orgasm hadn’t.

As the final drops of milk were squeezed from her oversized tits, Jennifer felt a hot, throbbing rod slide between the aching globes, enveloped within her expansive cleavage as the two hands pressed her breasts lightly together. Her breathing quickened, her fingers stilling inside her as she experienced the first cock she’d ever felt firsthand. Unable to see it, she was shocked at how big it felt, how hard and warm it was between her pillowy breasts. The man used her like a fucktoy, thrusting into her, her nipples brushing against his hips as he completely buried himself inside her cleavage.

Slowly, as the man started to fuck her tits more and more roughly, squeezing them and ramming his cock harder against them, Jennifer began to realize he was going to cum. Her tits were going to be covered in a strangers cum after he used them to get himself off. She couldn’t stop him, didn’t want him to stop. The thought of her slutty tits being fucked while her holes went neglected was one of her deepest fantasies, and having it happen like this was even better than she’d imagined. Her fingers picked back up, rapidly pumping into herself, trying to match the frantic rhythm of his cock. He was close, she could feel it, feel the same edge of need that tinged his movements. The same sensation filled her, and lightly pinched her hard clit, biting her lip and whining loudly with pleasure.

Both of them came at the same time. She felt the hot cum, sticky as it pumped out onto her skin. Spreading it across her chest, the man coated the tops of her breasts, glazing her nipples with his thick spunk while Jennifer shook and quivered, enjoying every drop that was given to her while she climaxed. Even after the man pulled away, leaving her breasts marked with his seed, Jennifer continued to finger herself, torturing her clit and dragging out her orgasm until the pleasure became too much. Dropping her hands to the ground, she rested her cheek against the wall, panting raggedly.

The voice came over the intercom, androgynous and distorted with electric crackle as before. “Your time is complete. You may withdraw and leave at your leisure. Congratulations, and welcome to Club Kobalt.”

Jennifer smiled, feeling weak, used up, and utterly satisfied. Pulling her aching tits slowly through the holes, she made an effort not to scrape off the cum on the tops of her breasts as she squeezed them back into the same room as the rest of her. Looking down, she shivered in happiness as she took in her own chest. “FUCKBAGS” and “MILKSLUT” had been written on the tops of her breasts, along with other words mocking her huge endowments, though she’d need time and a couple mirrors to read them all. The words were covered in ropes of cum, which dripped from her nipples like the milk she had so copiously spurted out. The scent of her lactation filled the room, wafting in through the holes, an odor keyed to induce arousal in her after so much sexual milk play on her own. Bruises were already forming, coin-sized ones covering her upper breasts where the heels had stomped down, her nipples acutely tender after being stepped on.

It’d be a while before she could be rough with herself, letting her tits heal from the intense abuse they’d suffered today. Still, she didn’t regret the loss in the slightest as she shrugged on her trenchcoat, the cum and marker the only things on beneath it.

Buttoning it up, she decide to leave just enough exposed to show some of her messy cleavage. Smiling to herself as she made her way back out into the city, Jennifer found herself already thinking about how she’d play with herself after the long walk home.

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