Far Too Late (Commission for sugnanayr)

Life for Melinda had taken a few turns ever since she allowed her personal assistant to take over most of her affairs. It was an inevitability, really; the bun was quite literally incapable of thinking for herself, having become little more than a breeding and milking machine, resulting in an ever-escalating downward spiral into lust-filled insanity that never really stopped at all. Fortunately though, when push came to shove, both of them were getting what they wanted out of their exchange: Melinda got to spend all of her day, every single day, being used as a breeding tool and fuckdoll, along with all the growth and bloating that came with it, while her assistant was effectively handed a managerial position which required very little concern about the “goods” being sold and yet still made her an absolute fortune, seeing as her “boss” wasn’t at all interested in the profits.

It started off simply by taking advantage of how much milk the bun was producing, courtesy of the ungodly cocktail of chemicals she had been forcing into herself ever since starting her journey down the path of eternal motherhood. Both of her breasts, while not nearly the size of that gravid belly of hers, were still gigantic enough that they could fill up a whole dairy farm’s quota just by themselves; admittedly, the sheer amount of food that Melinda required in order to keep going cut into the income the slightest bit, but it was nothing some marketing couldn’t fix. Selling the bun’s cream as “all-natural breast milk” made her assistant a mint, even if she had to spend non-insignificant amounts of money to silence the regulatory agencies that came knocking asking for whether or not she had a license. The worst among all of them, however, was the fertility clinic; none of their staff members accepted bribes, be them in the form of currency or some time spent with their creation, requiring Melinda to pay up for breach of contract. Not that this mattered much, as Melinda herself didn’t care, but it did convince her assistant that something had to be done about that rabbit-shaped cow.

Constructing a brand new location wasn’t feasible, but renting a milking barn was perfectly possible. Seeing as the bun was in no way ready to give up her pregnancy, it was also quite simple to increase their profit margin: invite more eager volunteers over to breed her even more and then bottle up the results! Moving her was a pain in the ass, taking up most of a full day and leading to such an immense mess of cream and femcum that everyone involved could already see the costs for repairs racking up; nonetheless, they all knew it was important to get Melinda out of there sooner rather than later, lest she become too big to extricate from within her home. The bun was insensate by that point, thoroughly unaware of where she was being taken and also unable to bring herself to realize that it was even happening at all, thus offering no resistance when they began to hook her up to all the machinery required to keep the pregnancy going… and to make it even grander in scale.

A large scaffold would keep her body aloft, firmly in place so her “suitors” could have easy access to her, with the bun’s legs being kept sufficiently spread apart for insertion without it being uncomfortable. She was angled such that both her breasts and belly were made to hang down to the ground, with two large platforms holding them up to prevent her spine from snapping. A colossal milking apparatus, so large that it had to be assembled outside the barn itself, was linked to each of her teats via a pair of enormous metal tubes, both of which were capped by oversized suction cups; everyone figured it was best to think ahead instead of just finding a proper fit. Up above, a feeding tube was inserted into her mouth; the caloric demands of a body such as that were truly astronomical, requiring a near-constant supply of food and water just to keep her from dehydrating from the milk production, but a deal cut with a few suppliers allowed Melinda’s assistant to bring costs down to an acceptable level while still keeping her sufficiently well-fed. Thus the bun was made to exist inside a constant storm of whirring and pumping and sloshing and churning and a whole host of other noises that made the many technical assistants wear noise-cancelling headgear just to get through the day; several of them would inevitably succumb regardless, joining the endless queue of eager customers wanting to climb the ladder to where they could dump their load inside of Melinda, but at least the protections kept that from happening until they paid off their own salary.

Things became far more industrialized than either the bun or her assistant could’ve ever imagined; what had been a small, home-based business venture suddenly had a whole staff assigned to it, requiring accountants and lawyers and a number of other vital personnel whose entire role was to ensure that Melinda continued to grow and bloat without anything getting in her way. The bun’s body, being the transfigured mess that it was, took to the changes quite well; it was hard to count how many pregnancies she had stacked onto herself at that point, but judging from how immense her womb had become, then that number was clearly in the double digits already, and not the low ones. It seemed that every single person that climbed up to where her body was only made the problem worse, and the process even began to speed up once her assistant had the wonderful idea of grinding up her special tablets and mixing them with her feedstock, giving Melinda a continuous infusion of the very drugs that had unleashed her broodmother abilities in the first place. 

It was so bad that it ceased being circumscribed to her tits and belly alone, with her ass following suit in its climb to colossal sizes. It was subtle at first, hard to grasp when compared to everything else around it, but clearly her hips thought that they’d need to do something about the litters that Melinda was producing; after all, she was packing a large amount of calories into her, and while most of it went to fuel the constantly-churning furnace that was her chest, there was still enough fat left that it had to settle somewhere. The harness lasted an admirable amount of time before it had to be moved around to deal with this new reality, and even then anyone who wanted some direct access to Melinda’s lower lips would eventually need to bury themselves inside a pair of asscheeks that continued to grow past absurd milestones.

The bun, in the meantime, wasn’t even there anymore. It was doubtful that she’d care at all even if she were, given what kind of thoughts were going through her mind to even kickstart the whole thing to begin with, but not a day went by that her assistant didn’t wonder what her nominal boss would say if she could see herself as she was. A belly large enough to fill up a good third of a milking barn, tits to fill most of the rest and an endless queue of suitors eager to dive into her gigantic ass to plow her loosening slit so much that it, too, began to change along with the rest of her. It was subtle, but it was there; Melinda’s mound wasn’t just loosening up from all of the work it was going through, it was actually growing to match her obscene proportions… either that or preparing itself for a birth that would never come around to be. While most would think that such a thing would reduce the appeal, as it turned out there was no shortage of individuals who absolutely adored the idea of having a go at a pussy that could fit two people at once; hell, after Melinda’s assistant got through the embarrassment of even thinking about such a thing, she realized it was a fantastic business opportunity, as it potentially allowed them to double the rate at which they went through customers! Given that milk sales were quickly becoming only a large minority of their profits, this was seen by both her and the accounting department as the simplest, most logical step; the waiting list for the compound had become quite long.

There was, of course, some resistance by some fringe elements who took umbrage at the fact that they were exploiting a mother-to-be who was clearly not in the mental state required to sign off on any of the things they were doing to her, complaints that were easily silenced by bringing up the fact that she started and deliberately escalated it, plus a handful of documents left behind from before she completely lost her mind that indicated the bun would’ve wanted her new personal assistant to “maximize” her ability to be bred. They were, as they claimed, merely following orders and providing a service by doing so; after all, there were plenty of people who were more than happy to book “appointments” several weeks in advance, and as soon as word got out that the number of openings would be increasing, the wait time only got worse! Soon enough there was a small business town surrounding the milking barn, selling everything from fully licensed merchandise to bottles of Melinda’s milk, a brothel of unimaginable proportions dedicated purely to the continuation of the “eternal pregnancy” the bun had created for herself.

This, unfortunately, led to a problem: Melinda was running out of room. Everyone was so busy trying to make her problem worse that they didn’t stop to think about what might happen if they actually succeeded; the can was kicked so far down the road that, by the time it should’ve been picked up and dealt with, the company was too busy celebrating yet another three months of soaring profits, all while the bun’s moaning only got louder and louder, and complaints began to pour in of how much the harness and equipment were groaning under the weight of the still-burgeoning womb. It became evident all-too soon that something had to be done, because the barn itself was going to explode if they didn’t move her out of there; seeing as stopping the business model wasn’t an option, they simply had to… scale up.

Thankfully for them, there was now enough money invested into the whole thing that they could afford to build something specially-made to house Melinda and only Melinda. A complex of a size big enough that they wouldn’t have to worry about room woes for months, by which point they could simply build something else and keep going until forced labor became more cost effective. Construction began so that the new warehouse would be finished at around the 2-year mark of the bun’s first impregnation, a bit of a celebration for everyone involved in the project; Melinda herself apparently had enough left in her to nod mindlessly when told this was the plan, even managing to blurt out a few words to the tune of “Birthday” and “Babies” before falling back into half-moaning, half-mooing. This was considered a resounding success by those around her; it’d been months since they got any words from her, let alone any that were pertinent to the topic at hand.

Rather than moving the bun away from her spot, the company staff chose to build the new warehouse around the barn, in order to then dismantle the old building and have Melinda be ready for “installation”; this cut on travel costs and allowed them to work on the new pumping machines at the same time, seeing as the old milker had grown to become woefully insufficient to deal with the amount of milk being produced by just one of Melinda’s udders, let alone the both of them combined. Spillage was a constant issue, as was overflow; considering how it would only get worse, solutions of a larger scale were needed. Things continued to escalate until eventually they could no longer keep the bun hooked up to the drainage pumps; after having spent so long ignoring the mounting issues and climbing productivity, the rate at which they were building the replacement warehouse just wasn’t fast enough for them to connect her to the new machinery. Flooding became a constant problem they had to deal with, to say nothing of how much it cut into their income; without any way to directly pump breast milk from within her udders to the holding tanks, all they could hope to do was capture as much as they could in improvised suction cups held aloft with wires hanging from the ceiling, catching just barely enough from the insane spray that they could still meet their existing contracts.

The effects this had on Melinda were… unexpected. After spending quite literally over a year permanently hooked up to a milking machine that was somehow even bigger than she herself was, the bun had forgotten what it was like not to be actively drained at all hours of the day. To her, it was just something normal, a facet of life like all others, to the point where she often wondered if it had ever not been like that. To her hormone-addled brain, the reality she was experiencing wasn’t something that had been real through her decisions just two years prior, but a set of circumstances that, somehow, had always been true; she couldn’t even remember anything from before the barn anymore, not even the first pregnancy. To Melinda, there was no “first”; everything had always been like that, her body had always been excessively gravid, and everything about her had always been designed to continuously grow ever larger with litters that would remain forever inside of her. It would never end, not until she decided it would… and Melinda would never make it end, ever.

Sadly, some things were still outside of her ability to influence, one of them being her breast size. The biggest problem with it, quite literally speaking, was that her nipples, while grown out significantly as well, didn’t keep up with the rest of her. With so many successful impregnations, and a womb that was now bigger than her old house by a couple of orders of magnitude, it was only natural that her udders produced enough milk to feed all of her young ones; they needed nourishment, after all, enough to keep all the uncountable number of them happy and well-fed. And while her body was stretchy enough that it could accommodate however much was necessary, there was an obvious imbalance at work there, with her nipples slowly, but surely, becoming unable to deal with all of the milk backed up behind them. The flow of cream still consistently increased, of course, but the only two ways it had of venting eventually became insufficient to do so without external assistance; the only thing allowing both breasts not to grow out of control was just how much the pumps actively drew out of them, opening up the two teats capping them just enough that their size could remain manageable. However, this couldn’t possibly last without the suction cups not only growing in size, but potency as well; after a while, they just couldn’t extract enough milk, couldn’t put enough power behind them to truly make Melinda flow like she used to. The end result was predictable, but still disastrous: runaway breast growth.

Without a set of milking machines to keep those things in check, both udders quickly grew to become utterly impossible to contain. No matter how much the volunteers jumped on them or massaged them or did any number of things to those blimps, the inability for the bun’s nipples to adequately deal with the flow of milk pressing against them, even when they were outputting as much as they could, meant that her bust effortlessly outclassed her belly in size. This was dangerous for a great number of reasons, chiefly among which was the fact that the second, larger set of milking machines just weren’t anywhere near ready, and if they couldn’t find a solution soon enough, Melinda could very well outgrow the very warehouse they were building to contain her! This was obviously less than ideal… but no one had any real ideas on what to do.

Trying to stop the breedings didn’t do much to help. Not only did it leave Melinda feeling like utter trash for suddenly being deprived the very reason for why she was alive, but the hormonal imbalance brought about by not constantly having several cocks inside of her dumping their loads altered her bodily chemistry so much that she began to grow sick, requiring such absurd quantities of medication that it would genuinely be cheaper just to let her wreck the new warehouse. Not just that, but telling all of their customers that the doors were now closed would deal such a heavy blow to the company that they might as well keep those things shut and declare insolvency, even if it was just a temporary measure. They built their business model on momentum, and thanks to their hubris, now had it slip from their hands and out of their control. The bun was oblivious to all this, even if she did notice she wasn’t being used as a fucktoy for a few days; her moaning grew more pained, her vocalizations occasionally containing not-words that her handlers and attendants insisted meant she was suffering from withdrawal. Not that her personal assistant cared that much; Melinda stopped being anything more than a prized cow to her long before that, but she was still necessary for their company to remain afloat.

The best they could do was scour every dairy farm they could find in an attempt to find equipment that could be used to deal with the immense amounts of thick cream that now demanded constant clean-up, only to find nothing of the sort was even remotely available. Their chosen “solution” didn’t do anything at all to address the problems, and in fact only made them worse, but it was either that or risk everything becoming flooded and inaccessible: plugging both nipples.

The results were immediate and perfectly visible within just a few hours, with the size of those mounds skyrocketing before anyone had any way of reacting to it. The only thing the technicians thought of that might be remotely useful was drilling a hole through the center of the plastic plugs, hopefully making them large enough that they could serve to “vent” milk to the still-usable suction cups. While this did solve the problem of flooding, it only served to make Melinda’s tits take up a drastically larger chunk of the milking barn, to the point where they were very close to pressing against the walls after just a couple of days. What was worse, the rate of accidents went up as well, not only because of the pressure of the milk jets making it easier to miscalculate things, but also thanks to the staff’s amazing decision to start sampling some of that milk whenever they thought no one was looking; it had been a need boiling away for months underneath the surface, and now that their workplace had turned into a churning, rumbling inferno of breast growth, very few had the ability to resist the urges.

Things were quickly growing out of control, and everyone in the upper levels of management knew it. There was already a thriving black market, mostly supplied by the very people who were supposed to keep that cream inside the production line, but had succumbed to its own allure. The resulting increase in reported cases of “milk madness” led straight back to them and very nearly forced them to put an end to the project altogether; they almost did, only choosing to invest a significant amount of money into greasing palms by way of Melinda’s personal assistant insisting that things were going to be fine in the end… and promising large bonuses to everyone who stuck around. 

The contraption built to serve as a stop-gap, assembled after twenty-four hours of frantic purchases, was a jumbled mess of tubes and wiring that linked together a multitude of milking machines of varying sizes, and had a projected shelf life of a little under a month before it finally broke down, especially with the amount of milk it was made to process after the custom suction cups were installed and the plugs removed… but it was something. Installing that goddamned thing took so long that everyone on-site was biting their nails, but as soon as the cups went on and the engines started roaring, everyone breathed a sigh of relief at how much it didn’t explode in their faces.

It still took a significant amount of time before the illicit sales stopped, given there was still plenty of overflow going on before the milking stabilized properly, but as soon as it did the company could go back to business as usual. With the black market supply dwindling, the usual line of suitors waiting to be elbow-deep inside a pussy that just kept growing larger and an ever-escalating amount of cream to sell to the highest bidder and whoever else happened to show up, it was enough to distract everyone from their frantic attempts at finishing the warehouse ahead of schedule. Everyone in upper management knew that they would be getting one shot at this, and if they failed, then… well, it was hard to tell what they’d have to do really, it being doubtful that they could even force labor anymore; the supply of tablets had been slowly weaned off in an attempt to make milk production go down, and yet somehow she hadn’t given birth, hinting that somehow, her bodily chemistry had been irrevocably altered by the near-constant overdose of pregnancy stabilizers. It was a problem no one wanted to consider, especially after construction somehow sped up beyond their most optimistic projections and granted them the reprieve they needed.

The new milker was finished two weeks before the main structure itself was, allowing the technicians to execute the hours-long transfer process where the makeshift assembly was exchanged for the pristine, high-tech pumping system that was actually meant to take someone of Melinda’s size. Full protective gear was broken out, people were reprimanded for trying to make off with some of the excedent but, in the end, it was done; the bun’s immense areolae looked tiny compared to the suction cups the new machine had, projected to handle all of their needs for at least the following three years, assuming no random growth spurts took place. Miles of piping linked her to the many, many storage tanks designed to handle high-pressure fluids, so that Melinda could be milked for all she was worth and still have room to store plenty of her cream. What was more, now that they didn’t have to worry about any spillage, they could resume feeding her the same tablet mixture in her feedstock, allowing her to carry on developing a gravid belly of ever more insane proportions.

Safely locked inside of her self-made mental prison, the rabbit could not be happier. Only vaguely aware of what was happening around her, all that filtered down into that box she made for herself was how much the pressure had been alleviated, and how hard she was being bred again. Melinda felt the familiar sensations of getting used up like a cheap fucktoy and knew, in that instant, that everything was fine; regardless of anything else that might happen, her life was back on track and her pregnancies were still getting stacked on top of one another. Even when the barn was deconstructed, with her back already against its ceiling, the bun could barely bring herself to open her eyes, for in her mind, there was no need to. Without the looming sense of doom that came with being squished against the insides of a building, she could focus on growing, and growing, and filling forever, until she was the biggest mother of all mothers. A womb that continued to bloat, a belly that continued to balloon. This was her life now, her existence, the be-all end-all.

And she wanted more.