Running post-update verification. . .
Udder 1. . . Good
Udder 2. . . Error! Milk Production not increased. . . Udder 2 running at half capacity
Projected output is at deficit
Insufficient Teats. . . Insufficient Mass. . . Creating Milk Ducts. . . Opening. . . Injecting Growth Hormones. . . Udder 2 shall reach sufficient output in 21 days. . . Error! . . Udder 2 will reach sufficient capacity in. . . Error! Udder 2 has exceeded capacity. . . Milk production at surplus. . . Post Update Verification complete!
Sending Report. . .
Your body turns calories into fat at a normally impossible rate that can only be achieved through an unstable genome. A second pair of breasts grows right under your current pair, and in a matter of hours, they grow to nearly match them at a size that can only be compared to your actual bovine udder. Your teats enlarge as well as milk starts to leak from them onto your bed.
The changes don’t stop at your breasts, your unstable bovine genetics flare as your body reacts to what it considers a second udder. It causes two small black horns to burst out the sides of your forehead. Your sleeping face cringes as a small trickle of blood runs down your cheek. Your head now sports two small black horns that are curved upwards at a few inches of length. It’s a miracle you didn’t wake up. Probably something that was in what was injected into you.
Eventually, after a full night's rest you do wake up to an intense hunger. A starving sensation overtakes you to the point you nearly don’t notice the extra weight on your chest. You look down at your leaking breasts and spot a second pair of tits obscured under your first. You give them a quick cursory squeeze and have to stifle a moan. Your chest is certainly tender. . . you need to be milked. You walk to the milker you bought and you become acutely aware of how cumbersome the jiggling mass that is your breasts. With every step you take, you can hear the slosh of milk from your plush tits, and the teats from your bottom udder briefly brush against the floor, sending a tingle up your spine. No way. . . did that grow too? Or did your milk production just go up?
“Augh. . . My tits. . . my back. . .”
As the sleepiness wears off you start to feel the weight of your four tits on your torso, which was designed for less than a quarter of your current mass. Thankfully you have a strong back.
“I really need to milk. . .”
Torn between wanting to eat and wanting to milk your hunger wins out as a large growl erupts from your stomach. “I’ll eat first.”
You go to the kitchen and eat a grass disk, then another, and another. . . God, you’re so hungry, you would have gone for a fourth until a rapid knocking on the door interrupts you.
Must be the specialist.