Moo’d Ring: A Mind Deviancy Story

Bethany Park was not well liked. Plenty of people liked her initially, especially men. Her looks gave her advantages that other unliked girls would kill for. At nineteen, Bethany looked the picture of youth, vitality, and fertility, a trait discussed by proxy of tits, ass, and hips in the dens of masculinity where such conversations often happened. The first things anyone noticed about Bethany stuck out from her chest in a demanding fashion. She dressed, to the best of her ability, to hide the enormous breasts and did not succeed whatsoever. A saleswoman once helped Bethany pick out a properly fitted bra. The saleswoman also failed, giving Bethany the best she could do, a beige 32F which still allowed a copious amount of flesh to pinch and spill out if Bethany moved around too much.

But breasts aren’t everything. Hiding behind the bizarrely sized melons was a rather immature girl with the personality of someone who developed early and gratuitously. If a personality cultures and forms from the external forces around it, particularly that of what the owner of the personality wants — in Bethany’s case, attention, mostly from boys — then Bethany’s developed along an easy path. Every boy she met, even the gay ones, wanted to play with her breasts. They lavished her with attention in the small hope of one day getting to sink their hands into the pliable flesh, or, for the more imaginative, to slide their lubed dick between them while Bethany hopped up and down, giggling with an attention high. Afterward, with the clearheadedness of having their cum splattered on a pair of 32Fs, they always realized, painfully, the dullness of Bethany Park.

This put Bethany in an awkward place with her life. She finished high school a solid B student with no real hopes or ambitions for a career. Without those, she saw no reason to rush out of her parents home, but did seek out some employment, mostly to pass the time she once spent in school. Though it was drying up quickly, the local mall still housed a few smaller clothing outlets. Bethany got a job at an Old Navy, primarily because she wore a tank top to the interview. While she droned on about how much she liked clothes, the store manager, a middle aged man who looked entirely out of place in the faux hip environment, spent the whole time watching the edge of her top, trying to discern whether he was looking at part of her nipple or not.

The job filled its requirement of giving Bethany something to do during the day while also giving her a meager paycheck. She gave part of it to her parents as rent while promising to move out sooner rather than later. Craig and Teresa Park didn’t like their daughter much, either. They loved her, naturally, but as Bethany grew, she didn’t become someone the Parks liked. They told themselves it happened that way some times. Parents and their offspring simply drift apart. They kept hoping that some distance would make the hearts involved grow fonder, which required them to passive-aggressively move their daughter out of the house by forcing her to pay rent until she resented it. As to why specifically Craig and Teresa didn’t enjoy having Bethany around, it was rather simple. Their daughter was unintentionally slutty, and it made them uncomfortable.

Of all this, Bethany remained oblivious. The world around her was changing, and she didn’t have the slightest idea of where she would fit in. The millennium was ending, and Bethany had a strange sense that many other things would end with it. Cell phones were becoming ubiquitous. The internet wasn’t only for nerds any longer. The mall was dying. Fewer people came every week, and Bethany, like almost every employee in the building, knew the holiday season could be the last this relic of a particular age of consumerism would see. But despite having these odd thoughts of the future and change, Bethany did not know how to utilize them. So she badly folded clothes, chatted happily with men who gave her undue attention, and tried her best to avoid conflict.

At the last effort, she failed. The slightly greasy man who hired her got promoted to a part of the company where being slightly greasy was more fashionable. His replacement was a woman not much older than Bethany who wanted to prove her worth by turning a dying store around. Part of that effort involved an upheaval of the staff, Bethany included. Though the manager had plenty of valid reasons to let Bethany go, such as her habitual tardiness or inability to fold shirts, it was a keen, primal sense of jealousy which led to Bethany’s dismissal. The manager saw the younger woman changing one day, planting a seed of envious dislike which grew in ground made fertile by an ex-boyfriend’s feelings about the manager’s chest size. The form filed with HR detailed the late for work issues and left out “has tits bigger than me” issue altogether.

Fired with no real friends, no real prospects, and no where to go but home to her parents who didn’t much like her, Bethany instead wandered from one end of the dying mall to the other. She’d walked the concourse many times in her short life. Casting back her memory, she could recall the whole place bristling with life. She remembered displays for toys of the year, new VHS releases, and the grand openings of now long closed shops. What she didn’t remember was a strange little shop that looked like it had been carved out of a London side street and somehow shoved wholesale into the mall. “A Shop of Lost Things (name subject to change)” read gilt lettering in the glass window. Beside the lettering stood the desiccated husk of some dead animal propped up by a set of black dowels. Curious, Bethany went inside.

A bell dinged as Bethany entered the store. She expected someone her age with probably smaller breasts to pop out from between the shelves with some quirky greeting. Instead, a heavy silence hung in the air. After a few seconds, she heard movement from the back of the store, but couldn’t discern a direction. She moved to the shelves which lined the shop. The contents fascinated her. She found a puppet which looked exactly like Oliver Wendt, a boy she had a crush on who she still sometimes saw around town. The puppet even had the same scar on the left hand from when Oliver fell off a set of bleachers and landed on a bit of metal. She moved on to a candle labeled, “The Scent of Lost Love, Burning to Return”. Taking a big whiff brought to her the thoughts of strapping men from romance novel tinged with the slight smell of decay. She passed bottles which looked like the homes of fairy tale creatures, and she plucked at the strings of a strange instrument which left notes quavering on the air, filling her thoughts with scenes of love-making under starry skies.

“Can I help you?” Evelyn asked, frowning from one end of what seemed to Bethany to be a never ending row of oddities.

The sudden appearance of the Deviancy unsettled Bethany in the same way that seeing a strange shape in the darkness of one’s own room in the bleary hours of sleep did. “Sorry,” she squeaked, “I was browsing.”

“It’s a dangerous place to browse,” Evelyn said, eyes dark and glittering. She wore a pair of black overalls covering a turtleneck sweater of black knitted wool. Her tangle of oily hair hid under a bowler hat, kept in place with wicked looking pins which stuck out from under the brim. Altogether it effected the garb of a foul-mooded sailor from the early 1900s. With hands clasped behind her back, Evelyn glowered, a visage of inhuman features somehow strung together in the semblance of a proper face. “You have enormous tits,” she said.

Bethany blushed. “Uh, that’s not…appropriate.” She turned, looking to leave the store in a huff, but all she could see behind her was an unending row of shelves. Her heart sank as fear crept up her throat. She thought of running, hoping for a break in the shelves where she could wiggle through and back to civilization. But, Bethany, unlike most of the world, knew the supernatural when she saw it, even when seeing it for the first time. With nothing else to be done, she grabbed the closest thing which could be used as a weapon, which was handily a sword boasting a hilt adorned with the teeth of a dragon. “What the fuck are you?”

Evelyn’s brows raised slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I am Evelyn, one of the Deviancies, which has somehow landed me as the proprietor of this fucking shop full of lost and extremely dangerous magical artifacts. That, for example, is the Sword of the Green Knight. Wielding it begins a slow and agonizing transformation into a wyrm — a wyrm cursed to fuck everything it can until it is killed with the same sword which birthed it in the first place. The sword then changes its new owner and on and on for several hundred years until someone has the good sense to throw it in sea. At which point it apparently winds up here to be picked up and waggled pointlessly at me by a big titted girl who looks a bit sad.”

The sword suddenly burned in her hand. Bethany dropped it, checking her palm and fingers for scales or claws. The sword should have clattered to the ground, but instead it wound up right back on the shelf. At a loss for defense, Bethany tried for mercy, “I don’t want any trouble or to be a dragon. I didn’t mean to come in here. I didn’t know what it was.”

The malevolence drained out of Evelyn’s face as a manic grin took over. “No one does. It’s a shop for lost things. You were lost, and so you are here. I’ve been out of sorts myself, and so here I am. Aren’t we a pair? Mind if look around a bit? Speed things along to help find what you’re looking for?”

Bethany expected the woman to start looking up and down the aisle. Instead, her hands came around to the front of her body, one human and one a claw made of shifting darkness. Before Bethany could scramble back, the claw hand shot forward and into her skull. It hurt, like thousands of little paper cuts raking across the surface of her brain. As she suffered, she saw her whole life parading by in vignettes, like clips in a hokey montage reel. If she tried to focus on any one of them, they broke down into shadowy figures with only her at the center, but even she was disfigured and shadowy, lacking eyes or a mouth often. Bethany wanted to collapse or scream or react in any way possible, but she stood rigid in Evelyn’s grasp, trying to break free of whatever was defiling her thoughts. Then, it stopped, and she did it all at once. She collapsed into a screaming mess.

“Oh,” Evelyn said, taking a prim step back. “Sorry, I’m a bit out of practice. Stop all that. Stop.”

The order took effect instantly. The final cry choked in Bethany’s throat. She looked up at Evelyn. “What did you do to me?”

“I sifted your mind to figure out what to do with you. Normally, I do this with a little more sugar than vinegar, but like I said, I’m having a terrible decade.”

“You didn’t say that?” Bethany muttered as she got to her feet.

“Did I not? Fucking time. Come on. I think I know what will get you sorted out.” Evelyn waved for Bethany to follow. With no other options, she did.

They walked quickly through the shop. Their turns seemed random, but Bethany figured whatever Evelyn was knew how to navigate the maze of shelves. Occasionally, she thought she heard or saw other people. Once, she knew she saw a different Evelyn, one wearing a corset dress and pig tails. That Evelyn smiled wickedly, but disappeared around a corner before Bethany could say anything. Knowing the objects all around her posed various levels of danger cut her curiosity significantly. When Evelyn stopped, Bethany collided into the back of her, which felt a little like running into a sack full of knitting needles. Bethany looked to the side to see an array of metal rings. “What are these?”

“Nose rings,” Evelyn said, picking one up. “You wanted one as an act of rebellion, but you were shot down. Its filed in your head as a moment of significance where any sort of burgeoning personality was subdued in favor of obedience. At the same time, your head is littered with artifacts of misguided trust and desperate want for love, companionship, et cetera. I believe one of these will satisfy both ends of the cosmic candle which is your existence.”

Bethany looked at the different rings displayed on a velvet pillow. Nothing about them looked particularly remarkable, other than their size. When she’d thought about getting one, she imagined a small stud for one nostril or a cute thin band for the septum piercing. These were all thicker and some had captive beads. “What will they do to me?”

Evelyn’s cheshire grin spread across her face. “They’ll make you happy. Some change you. Some change others around you. If you don’t want it, there’s the door.” Evelyn flicked her hand in the direction behind Bethany. As the girl turned to look, she saw the short walk back to the mall. “If you do want it — it being a life that’s more than ordinary, a life where everyone likes you, then choose one.”

Bethany thought she should pretend to debate the idea, but as Evelyn seemed to have riffled through her mind already, it seemed pointless to lie. Bethany had no greater wish than to live beyond the natural world, a wish that until moments earlier had not seemed possible. She examined the rings until she settled on the thinnest barbell ring. “That one.”

“Good!” Evelyn plucked it up with her hand. “This might hurt.” In a flurry of shadowy movement, Bethany felt a pinch across her nose followed by a general improvement of her mood. When the pain faded, the good mood remained. Evelyn patted her on the head, “Now go away.” She snapped her fingers, and Bethany stood outside a boarded up shop feeling slightly dizzy.

The girl gently rubbed the ring in her nose, expecting to feel something. She waited, wondering if she’d turn into a dragon or feel something other than general wellness. Nothing happened. A few other shoppers gave her a wary look as they scuttled from one dying store to another. Frowning and wondering if she’d had a psychotic episode, Bethany decided to go home.

Bethany thought about sex on the way home. She thought about the guy on the bus salivating at the sight of her breasts. She thought of letting him bend her over one of the seats and fucking her until he filled her up with cum. From the look of him, he thought the same thing, but so did the woman with him. In fact, everyone on the bus watched her with glassy eyes as they all fantasized about doing deplorable things to the girl with big tits. By the time they worked up the courage to do anything about it, Bethany got off at her stop and went on her way, leaving the bus passengers in a lurch of frustrated lust.

By the time she closed the front door behind her, Bethany was unquestionably horny. She blamed the nose ring, but, so far as she knew, it was working as intended. It radiated out a tingling sensation, causing little fuzzies to run through her thoughts any time she tried thinking of something other than sex. Logically, the best way to get sex off her mind was to masturbate. She went to her room, retrieved the small dildo from her hiding place, stripped out of her clothes and climbed on the bed. Her pussy was already leaking from the short ride home, further tantalized by the leering gazes of the bus patrons. With little preamble, she pushed the dildo into herself, letting the little arm press against her clit before she turned it on. It vibrated weakly, but enough. Small grunts slipped out of her mouth as she grinded her pussy against the fake cock, but no real satisfaction came.

When she heard the front door open and close, she didn’t react to being stark naked with her pussy stuffed while her bedroom door stood open. Somewhere in her head, she thought this seemed wrong. She should be terrified of being caught? Or ashamed of what she was doing in the first place, perhaps. A little tingle from the nose ring put aside all her worries. She pulled the dildo out of herself with a squelch before padding into the living room to see who was home.

Craig Park sifted through the mail while standing next to the front door as his daughter walked into the room, massive tits swaying on her chest. He looked up and said, “Jesus Christ, Bethany what the hell are you —” before something rattled around in his own head. The scent of sex clouded his thoughts as his eyes raked up and down the naked form in front of him. “What the fuck are you doing on two feet?” he barked, whipping off his belt.

Oh, right. Cows don’t stand up. The thought hit Bethany like punch. Her body wobbled and dropped to all fours as her father stepped closer to her, belt balled up in his hand. Now I have to be punished. Silly cow. The belt whipped across her bare ass, but it didn’t hurt. It only made the throb in her pussy all the more unbearable. “Sorry, daddy.”

Craig grunted, his own mind leading a failing rebellion against whatever force drove him to grab his daughter’s ass and squeeze. “You know better, that’s all. Your udders will ache and sag if you stand upright. Good little daughter cows plod around on all fours. Is that clear?”

“Yes, daddy.” Wait, what the fuck am I saying? This isn’t right. He’s my father. He’s not supposed to see me naked, let alone put his finger on my asshole.

“Mmm, we need to get you a butt plug. I like tight, but that feels uncomfortable. A nice plug will keep you stretched out enough for a good fuck, while strengthening your muscle to squeeze better.” His fingers moved down, pressing against her puffy pussy lips. One slipped inside. “God, you’re sopping wet. Have you been playing with yourself?”

She nodded, her cheeks red and her eyes downcast. The ring in her nose hummed like a live wire slowly cooking her brain into something altogether different. It’s wrong for daddy to play with my pussy. My titties hurt. He should be milking me instead.

Craig moved over to the sofa, stripping off his clothes as he did. When his dick flopped into view, Bethany’s mouth salivated. That’s the cock that fucks mommy. She gets to suck it whenever she likes. I do too! Wait…that’s not, mmmm. Her father sat down with his cock sticking up rigidly. “Well,” he said. “Come over here and do your job.”

Bethany waddled over to her father on all fours. Her knees scuffed on the carpet, but the ache in her breasts distracted her completely. Her nipples felt like corks about to pop. A few drips even oozed out, splashing on the ground beneath her as she positioned herself between her father’s thighs. He roughly grabbed her hair, moving her head closer to his dick. The nose ring brushed against his cock, and she became eager. Her mouth swallowed down the whole of her father’s dick in one motion. He grunted and patted her head, “Atta girl.”

While Craig finished reading through the mail, Bethany slurped up and down on his dick, tasting the wonderful stream of precum that oozed over her tongue. She challenged herself to see if she could make him cum before he fucked her, but she doubted it. It’s only right when he cums in my pussy anyway.

He pulled her head away from his crotch, wiping his dick on her cheek as he laughed. “Alright, let’s see how bad it is. Turn alongside the couch here.”

She obeyed, moving in front of him like a human coffee table. His hands moved down her flank, giving her ass a swat before he moved underneath her. Craig took her breast in his hand and squeezed. The soft flesh yielded to his touch eagerly. He moved down, closer to the nipple and repeated the motion. A short jet of milk shot out onto the floor. “Dammit, Bethany. You’re supposed to milk yourself so it doesn’t get this bad. Let me get the bucket.”

Stupid Bethany. Stupid cow. No wonder they’re so achy. I forgot to milk myself. I should have done that instead of playing with my pussy. Daddy likes to suck them sometimes, but only a cup not a gallon.

Craig returned with a large salad bowl. He shoved it underneath his daughter’s engorged tits. “Alright, girl, let’s see how much you’ve made.” With both of his meaty hands, he took hold of his daughter’s udders. She grinned at him with the taste of cock still in her mouth as he began to milk her. Thick streams of white milk poured into the bowl as he rhythmically moved his hands up and down, squeezing her nipples like cow teats. With each squirt of milk, the nose ring throbbed along with the rest of her body.

Bethany grunted and wriggled her ass in the air, desperate to be full of cock. If I’d milked myself then daddy wouldn’t have to. He could be fucking my pussy right now instead of filling up the milk bowl. Mmmngh. She shivered as her tits’ stream became a cascade of drops. The bowl of milk sloshed as Craig picked it up. With both hands, he brought it to his mouth, pouring it into his waiting lips until it ran out the sides, dribbling down his chin. His cock bobbed up and down between his legs as he drank his daughter’s milk, and she thought about sneaking over to slurp it back into her.

“Tastes sweet as hell, Bethany,” he said, finally stopping his glugging. “But that’s not nearly enough for today. We’re going to need to make more. And you know the best way, don’t you? How do you make more yummy milk Bethany?”

“When daddy cums in my pussy?”

“That’s right. Now turn and face the wall.”

Craig moved her forward with a push on her backside. Bethany giggled as her father pulled apart her ass cheeks as he moved into position. Her tits ached from the milking, but they also didn’t feel like they would pop any second. Still, the milk kept coming, not in rivers but in drops. It oozed out of her red nipples, leaking down onto the floor as hairy legs pushed her thighs open. As she felt her father’s cock push against her pussy lips, the final vestiges of the old Bethany rebelled, No! This is wrong. This is monstrous. He’s my father. This can’t happen. I have to stop — oooh.

She’d been fucked before, but never by a cock so thick. It spread her walls wide as he pushed inside of her. He did so dispassionately with a half satisfied grunt as his daughter’s wet walls squeezed around his length. Halfway inside her, he gave her rump a hard swat. She took the hint, pushing back against him, driving the head of his dick deep inside. If any semblance of his old thoughts of morality or propriety remained, Craig didn’t show them. He grabbed hold of Bethany’s thick hips and yanked her back on his cock as he thrust into her.

The front door opened. Teresa’s face remained blank as she took in the scene in front of her. Her daughter, breasts dangling and dripping milk, rested on all fours as her husband sawed into her from behind, his thighs slapping against Bethany’s wobbling ass while her good salad bowl sat nearby half filled with milk. The passive face faded into one stricken with horror as the door slammed behind her. “You fucking monster,” she screamed. She hurled her keys across the room, thudding into Craig’s chest.

“Mooo, moo!” Bethany said. Her face drooped in confusion. Mom, wait, she’d thought, but the words didn’t come out.

Teresa looked at her daughter, saw the light glinting off the ring through Bethany’s nose. “You didn’t wait for me? You know I like to have her eat my pussy before I cook dinner. And look at the terrible job you’ve done milking her. Fuck’s sake, Craig, you’re almost as useless as she is.”

The whole while, Craig hadn’t stopped fucking his cowed daughter. Her walls squeezed him a little tighter as they both watched Teresa strip. She pulled a chair over to in front of Bethany’s face, sat in it, and spread her legs. Bethany didn’t need instruction, tongue lapping at the exposed slit as Craig grunted and squeezed her ass. “Hurry up and cum in her, honey. We need the milk.”

On cue, Craig buried his cock inside his daughter emptying his balls deep inside her. Bethany felt each spurt and twitch of his dick as she moaned into her mother’s pussy. She felt the pressure building in her tits again. Her father slid out of her, letting his cum ooze down her thighs. He moved beside her, leaning his head down as he roughly pulled her breast to the side. His tongue circled around her sore nipple before he sucked, hard, taking a full gush of milk straight into his mouth. He smacked his lips. “Little less sweet, but better overall. You can milk her when she’s done. I’ll go start supper.”

He took one of Teresa’s breasts in his hand and squeezed as they kissed. Teresa shoved her daughter against her pussy as she grabbed her husband’s dick. Bringing him to her mouth, Teresa sucked off her daughter’s juices and the residual cum oozing from Craig’s tip. “Take that bowl with you and put the milk into the jugs. And we need a proper pail if she’s going to give this much every day.”

They droned on discussing the domestic life and its troubles while Bethany happily licked her mother’s snatch. Eventually, Teresa went quiet as her body shook with orgasm. Bethany kissed her mother’s thighs and realized the nose ring had fallen off, resting on her mother’s pussy. With clumsy hands, Bethany picked it up and looked up at her mother. “Moo?” she said.

Teresa had time to gasp and little else as Bethany lunged up. The needle pushed through her mother’s nose and hooked. A dazed look hit her face as Bethany moved to her mother’s breast and sucked, happy to find a small trickle of milk. She knew more would come. Her thoughts drifted to pleasant nothingness as she reveled in her place in the world, a happy daughter-cow for mommy and daddy, each who liked her. Very much.