A few days later I end up in the barn where I will presumably be working for the rest of my life. My boobs are restrained by a large bra, sparing me the worst of their jiggling physics, which I don't think I'll ever really get used too. I tried to wear one of my go to tees but my udders were so sensitive even that layer of fabric had me soaking through my cut off denim shorts. I had settled on a crop top that left them open to the air. Since the only people I'd seen were the same four lab assistants and the doctor, who I found out was names Dr. Kyre, I didn't mind them being on display.
In any case, but the time my first milking case around I was leaking enough that I'd have to change anyway if they had anything over them.
Speaking of that, we had skipped my first milking to make our way out here. My milk bag was so painfully full you could see veins beneath the skin. Even my human udders were moistened the padding of my bra, my long hard nipples almost visible through even that.
I shifted uncomfortably, painfully aware of the need to be milked, almost gasping with relief as a man wheeled in a big machine that was very obviously a milking machine. Six long hoses hung down from a rack, ending in cups that I longed for the touch of on my sore, leaking nipples.
The rest of the machine was like a chair, but inverted. Made to lean forward on so that my tits were hanging out for draining. It also had a ring cut out for my heavy udders.
I liked my lips in anticipation.