Milo Resists His Desires

“Honey? Is everything alright?” Felicity stood in the doorway with her hands on her belly, looking at him with worry in her deep blue eyes. Milo opened his mouth to reassure her, to find something to say that would allay her anxieties about his recent strange behavior and long silences and awkward, averted glances whenever she entered a room, but… but what could he tell her? How could he say to his pregnant wife that of course he still thought she was beautiful without giving her the explanation that he knew he would have to keep unspoken forever? And so he sat there. Watching her. Struggling to find words that didn’t make him into a liar.

“I, um, I was….” He was thinking about her on her hands and knees again, that’s what he was doing. He was looking at his beautiful, intelligent, witty and self-possessed wife and daydreaming about her sparkling blue eyes going dull and vacant and cowlike while she crawled around the room with her wet pussy exposed to his possessive gaze and her full, heavy tits practically brushing against the floor as she mooed mindlessly for attention. He was thinking about using his skills with hypnosis to systematically erase everything that made her human and leaving her every bit as docile and domesticated as some farm animal. He was imagining all those things and it was making him fucking hard as a rock.

He tried again, but all that came out was, “It’s just that I was….” Then he trailed into another lengthy silence, struggling to find some way to tell his wife that he wanted to dissolve their joint psychiatry practice so that she could devote herself full-time to emptying out her tame, foggy mind and becoming his personal breeder slut. He tried and failed to put into words that of course he respected her, of course he thought that Felicity was one of the most brilliant and respected professionals in the field, but he wanted her naked and crawling so that he could take her from behind and dump a massive load of semen into her pussy whenever the mood struck him and force her to kowtow until it dripped down to her cervix and impregnated her again.

“Y-you see, I….” The sentence sputtered and stalled like a car in cold weather, turning over and over and never quite getting started. Because once he said it, Milo knew it would be out there forever. Felicity would know that he wanted to take her hanging, swaying, watermelon-sized udders into his strong hands and tug on her stiff teats until he milked her dry, then put down some food and water on the floor to help her make more. He–he wanted to turn his wife into a fucking cow. To hypnotize her and make her forget she was even a person, regardless of her own desires. You didn’t need to be a psychiatrist to know how wrong that was, and Felicity had all the same degrees he did. She’d doubtlessly be horrified.

Milo sighed. “… never mind,” he finished weakly, turning away to stare out the window. She no doubt thought he was unhappy with her weight gain and her swelling belly, but maybe that was for the best. As long as she didn’t know the truth. As long as she never found out–

“And sleep,” Felicity murmured, moving into the room to sit next to him. Milo’s stare became fixed and glassy, seeing not the view outside their house but the shimmering depths of the crystal pendant his wife had shown him not long after she announced her pregnancy. “It looks like you’re still fighting it, aren’t you, sweetie? Don’t worry. We’ll get your mind all right soon enough.” She reached down and began to stroke his cock, whispering in his ear as her pleasure slowly eroded his resistance. “You want to turn Felicity into your breeder slut. You want to milk her pretty udders and make her mindless. You want to erase her identity and make her a blank, horny cow for you to fuck….”

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