by All These Roadworks

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Princess Ellie wasn’t a *bad* princess, but she was occasionally a thoughtless and cruel one, and she made the mistake of doing so on the day when a middle-aged woman arrived at court and applied for permission to access the Royal Library.

To be fair, the woman was trashily dressed, huge-titted, and more than a little vulgar. But still, Ellie’s response was uncalled for. She laughed when she heard the woman wanted a pass to the Library, and said, “What use does one of our kingdom’s whores have for books? You look more like a cow than a scholar – have you confused the word ‘pass’ with ‘pasture’? Surely you would be of more use to the kingdom being milked and bred than struggling with difficult words?”

It was an unwise thing to say. But particularly unwise because the woman was a powerful witch. Her face darkened at Ellie’s insult, and her shadow grew long and menacing.

“You dare to look down on me, princess?” she roared. “You had better hope you are as pure and chaste as you imply. For if being a whore makes a woman a stupid cow, and if such stupid cows should be of use to their kingdom, then I curse you to live by your words.”

The witch stormed out, and Ellie tried to laugh it off. But she soon learned the woman’s threat had not been idle. Ellie was not particularly slutty, but she had urges like any woman, and it was not uncommon for her, in the privacy of her royal bedchamber, to finger her pussy until she reached a satisfying orgasm. It took her three such nights, over the course of a week, to notice that her tits had gotten bigger.

She noticed it mostly because she no longer fit into her tightest bra or corset. At first she worried that she had put on weight, but experiments confirmed that, no, her breasts had gotten bigger while the rest of her had stayed the same size.

The change was a little worrying, but also exciting. Ellie’s breasts had been quite small, and while a lithe princess-like body was not a bad thing, she had wondered what it would be like to have a more… royal… bust. She liked the extra size and curve and weight. She liked it so much she spent much of the day fondling her swelling tits and masturbating.

She realised what was happening at the end of the day, when she looked in the mirror again and saw that her tits were yet again noticeably bigger. Her breasts were growing when she stimulated her pussy. The more sexual activity she had, the larger her tits grew.

She knew immediately this must be the witch’s curse. She immediately vowed not to touch her cunt until the curse was removed, and summoned her cabal of sorcerers to find a way to undo the magic.

It was then that she discovered the second aspect of the curse. As she talked about the curse to her sorcerers, their eyes were quite naturally drawn to her swollen tits, and to her embarrassment she sensed lust in their eyes. As soon as the thought formed in her head that they wanted to *see* her breasts, she felt an idea in her mind – “I must be useful to my people” – and just like that she found herself baring her newly-enlarged fuckbags to their gaze.

She went bright red, but found she could neither cover herself nor run away. They wanted to see her tits, and she knew she must be a good, useful princess by letting them look. She tried to explain that this behaviour, too, was a result of the curse, at which point her head sorcerer, Erlanthor – a man so powerful she dared not punish him for any infraction – rather pointedly lowered his gaze to look at her groin. Her face paling in horror, Ellie found herself obediently pulling her panties down her stockinged legs and lifting her skirts to let everyone stare at her pussy. “I must be useful,” the traitorous voice in her head said as the sorcerers leeringly stared at what had once been her private feminine secrets.

In the end the head sorcerer promised to work on the problem, but he had a smile on his face that suggested he was not entirely unhappy with the status quo. Ellie unhappily returned to the task of running the kingdom.

The next week was pure torture. The changes in her breasts were doing interesting things to her hormones, and she was constantly experiencing some level of arousal. Keeping her hands away from her cunt became a daily battle. She wanted to touch herself so badly, but she didn’t want her breasts to get any bigger. Even so, she woke twice in the night to find she had unconsciously brought herself to orgasm in her sleep, with a corresponding small expansion of her breasts, so she went into the dungeons and found an ancient iron chastity belt and began wearing to bed in the evenings.

Her days were constant humiliation. Her new, large sex-balloons drew a lot of looks, many of them lustful – especially as she had not yet had new dresses completed, causing her funbags to bulge lewdly in most outfits. And whenever she sensed that lust, she found herself baring her tits as she knew the luster would want. No one said anything to her face about her strange new behaviour, but she overheard people calling her “Princess Fuckmelons” and snickering when they thought she couldn’t hear.

After a week, she summoned her head sorcerer Erlanthor and demanded an update on his progress on removing the curse. He arrived at her bedchamber, clearly furious at being summoned so curtly, and when she welcomed him into the room, he stared deliberately at her tits until she bared them, then at her cunt until she bared that, and then said, “Princess, perhaps you would be happier nude,” and blushingly she wiggled out of her expensive dress altogether and stood naked and humiliated before the robed man.

“Please, Erlanthor,” she begged. “Can you remove the curse?”

“The magic is strange and powerful,” said Erlanthor. “I believe it may be helpful to see the curse at work. Princess, I know this is difficult for you, but I need you to make your mammaries grow for me.”

She blushed deeper red. “Erlanthor, you know they only grow when I am… stimulated…”

“I know,” he said, and looked at her cunt again.

She knew she must be useful. Moaning in embarrassment, she felt herself start to play with her pussy. “Please,” she begged. “I don’t want my breasts to get bigger…”

Erlanthor was unmoved. “I believe I will have a better view if you kneel, princess,” he said. She fell to her knees, legs parted, fingers working her fuckhole.

He watched her masturbate, his smile cruel and mocking. After a while, he said, “I know you can’t help it princess, but your whorish display has made me erect. My cock requires servicing.”

She mewled in distress. She was a virgin; she had never been penetrated in any hole before. But… she must be useful. Looking up at her sorcerer for approval, she parted his robes and extracted his hard cock from his undergarments. He looked at her lips, and she obediently opened up and took his cock into her mouth and began to suck.

She orgasmed before he did, and her tits, which were pressing against his leg, bulged with new growth. But he was still fucking her mouth, so he looked at her and said, “Keep going. I must be sure.” Unhappily, she kept playing with her pussy, and found a second orgasm just as the sorcerer groaned and bucked his hips, and then ejaculated in her mouth. She tried to pull away but he gripped her hair, holding her face tightly against his balls, and she had no choice but to swallow his seed.

When he was done, he inspected her swollen fuckbags. He stroked them and squeezed them in ways that made her want to finger her cunt even more. And after some minutes of this, he obtained the result he was apparently looking for – he squeezed her left tit, pulling his fingers from the base of her breast down to her nipple, and suddenly a little trickle of milk leaked from the nipple.

“Good,” was all he said, and turned to leave.

After that, none of Ellie’s clothes fit anymore. Her tits were just too big. They had grown to the point where she was no longer just big-titted, but remarkably so. Her breast size would be one of the first things anyone would remember about her. She sent messengers to the seamstresses to find out how her new dresses were coming, and was told that Erlanthor had put the work on hold as he didn’t want new fabric designs interfering with his work undoing the curse.

In the end, she was forced to go about her day with her tits constantly bared. The name “Princess Fuckmelons” had gotten around to the point that everyone called her that now, except directly to her face. And every night, Erlanthor would visit her, stare at her until she undressed, get her to mount her bed on all fours, and then place a bucket under her breasts and painfully milk her. Each day she produced a little more milk. Afterwards, Erlanthor would have her “relieve the pressure she had caused in his cock” by sucking it. In the middle of the week, he made her give another masturbatory demonstration of how the curse made her tits grow, and after that her milk came more freely, and Erlanthor moved to milking her twice a day, mornings and night. By the end of the week she was coming to look forward to the milkings, as her tits would feel heavy and painfully full of milk as the scheduled hour came around.

Erlanthor was not the only one who violated her over this period. Three of the court noblemen had both understood her new vulnerability, and found the nerve to take advantage of it. Two of them would stop her on her way back to her bedchamber after holding court and ask her if she knew of a way to make their cocks feel good. Compelled to be useful, she would kneel and suck on them – sometimes masturbating one while sucking the other, sometimes letting one fuck her cleavage while she sucked on the second, sometimes letting both enter her mouth at the same time. One of the noblemen was a fan of cumming down her throat, but the other liked to ejaculate on her face and breasts, and she often returned to her bedchamber with a sticky sheen across her cheeks and fuckbags.

The third noble, a little cleverer, had been present when the curse was cast, and remembered the words of it. He would visit her bedchamber at night, not bothering to knock, possibly having bribed the guards, and he would say, “Good evening, Princess Fuckmelons. I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a terrible need to breed with a stupid big-uddered cow. Would you be able to help me?”

The word “breed” triggered something inside her, making her cunt dripping wet, and in any case she was compelled to be useful, so she would get on all fours and wiggle her ass at him, and he would slip his cock into her unprotected pussy and roughly fuck her. She would be so wet that she would cum twice before he even ejaculated, and he would leave her weeping, semen dripping from her fuckhole, her tits even larger and more whorish than they had been. This happened every three nights or so.

It wasn’t just men who used Ellie. The third noble shared some of what he knew with two scullery maids, and these scullery maids delighted in finding some pretext to visit Ellie’s chambers – bringing her drinks or a snack – and then say, “Oh, princess, my pussy is terribly wet, but I find the only thing that cleans it properly is a tongue…” and then Ellie would, usefully, get down on her knees and lick the women’s snatches until they orgasmed against her face. After the third of these violations, Ellie became furious enough that she used her princessly authority to force one of the girls to return the favour, pinning the woman to the floor and roughly humping her own sex against the maid’s face until she orgasmed and felt her tits swell.

All she did, though, was make the maid cruel, and on her next visit the maid said, “Oh, princess, I’ve had the most terrible urge to whip the tits of a stupid cow with a leather belt, can you help me?” Ellie did indeed help her, even if she was crying by the end.

Finally Erlanthor came to Ellie and said, “I believe I have a satisfactory conclusion to your problem, princess. The Regent of Dellmore will be visiting us tonight. He possesses certain magical resources that will be of great use to me, and if we please him sufficiently tonight, he will make those resources available.”

“That’s wonderful!” Ellie tried to say, but she couldn’t, because Erlanthor’s cock was in her mouth.

“Keep sucking, princess, there’s a good girl,” said Erlanthor. “However, as you may remember, women are property in Dellmore, and their degradation is a daily occurrence. He will not be pleased to see a woman in power, and yet he must be met by the leader of the land, which is you. Therefore I have prepared you an appropriate ceremonial outfit to meet him in.” He grabbed her head and ejaculated into her mouth, then pulled out, wiped his cock on her cheek, and let her rise.

“Make sure you wear it all, princess,” he said. “I will see you in the great hall in an hour.”

When she inspected the outfit, she was horrified. She dithered for a bit, but the promise of removing the curse was too tempting. She had to please this man. So she put it all on.

First was a magic rope, with instructions how to wind it tightly around the base of her tits to painfully constrict them and cut off their blood supply. The attaching documentation said that it would cause her tits to become very sensitive and painful for some time, until they went numb, at which point she was to moo like a cow and the magic of the rope would cause it loosen, letting blood back into her breasts – a source of excruciating pain – before eventually constricting again.

Then there were clamps for her nipples with heavy vibrating weights hanging from them. They brought tears to her eyes, and although their vibration was quite stimulating, the pain was worse, especially when she moved and felt the weights swing and bounce and tug sharply on her nipples. Milk leaked from her tits with every bounce and she realised that Erlanthor had not milked her that day, either in the morning or evening, and that her tits were agonisingly full.

There were elastic straps that went around her upper thighs with clamps on each end. The clamps attached to the top and bottom of her pussy lips, pulling her labia painfully wide open to expose her inner cuntflesh. Another weighted vibrating clamp then went on her clitoris.

A collar went around her neck. It was of black leather and had a cowbell attached. It, too, was magical, said Erlanthor’s notes, and it would constrict painfully if she made any sounds other than a cow-like “moo”. Women did not speak in Dellmore, he explained.

There was a jar of white goo, labelled “Semen”, with instructions to smear it on her face and tits as “make-up”. She verified from tasting it that it was indeed sperm. She hoped it was human. She rubbed it into her breasts and face until she had a visible spermy sheen across all of the relevant skin, and added a few last dollops to give herself that recently-ejaculated-on look.

To complete the ensemble, there was a vibrating butt-plug with a cow tail hanging from it, a cow-ear headband, stripper heels, and a pair of what would have been elegant princess-like gloves if they had not been patterned in black-and-white cow spots. She pulled the gloves on, and felt them tighten magically on her hands, and realised she would have trouble getting them off. Even worse, the fingers in the gloves were stitched together, and the thumb to the forefinger in an “O”. She could crawl or lift flat objects or give a handjob in these gloves, but manual dexterity was denied to her. What was more, the gloves would not allow her to cover, protect, or undress any part of her body. They magically prevent her hands from drawing near these areas, and she realised she was completely unable to take off any part of her demeaning outfit without help.

Blushing furiously, she made her way to the great hall, tottering unsteadily on the stripper heels. Each waver in her step made the weighted clamps bounce agonisingly.

When she arrived in the great hall, Erlanthor was waiting, along with the Regent of Dellmore, a robed saturnine man with a cruel face. He smiled as he saw her approach. “Excellent, Erlanthor, my friend. I had not believed it until I saw it. She looks like a perverted sex-toy more than she does a human.”

“I think you’ll find that in this case you are correct in judging the princess’ book by its cover,” said Erlanthor. “Princess, introduce yourself.”

She tried to say her name, but choked as her collar tightened. Tears coming to her eyes, she said the only thing she was allowed to say. “Moooooo…”

The Regent laughed uproariously. “Excellent. And I see her udders are producing nicely…”

“The milk bears the stigma of the curse that affects her,” said Erlanthor. “You will find that women who drink it becoming stupid, submissive, aroused, and their breasts will grow and also produce milk.”

Ellie’s eyes widened. Erlanthor had not told her that.

“She will be a fine addition to my barn,” said the Regent. “May I fuck her?”

“Go right ahead,” said Erlanthor.

Ellie was terrified, and tried to run. An addition to his barn? What was Erlanthor talking about? But she could not run in the stripper heels, and instead fell to her knees, her milk-laden udders swinging agonizingly beneath her. “Moooo…” she said desperately, begging for help the only way she could. “Moooo…” She felt the Regent come up behind her, reaching down to roughly pull her hair, and then his cock entered her painfully-spread pussy.

“You see, princess,” said Erlanthor. “The Regent collects women of wealth or title who have been reduced to the status of human cows. Sometimes he causes this change to happen himself, sometimes he buys pre-conditioned specimens like you. He takes great pleasure in raping, degrading and objectifying these women, breeding them so as to keep them constantly pregnant, and helping them learn their place as domestic animals. You are to be on loan to the Regent. For as long as you are of interest to him, he will supply our land with powerful magics that will allow us to grow our economy and improve our defences. So you see, princess, the way you can be *most* useful to your kingdom is by helping the Regent to enjoy hurting and degrading you for as long as possible, so that your people gain as much magic as possible before he tires of you. And you do *so* want to be useful, don’t you?”

She wept. She did. She did want to be useful. And she knew, as she orgasmed on the Regent’s cock, that the curse would make her do her best to be useful in exactly the way Erlanthor had described. “Moooo…” she moaned, as she felt her tits swell. “Moooo…” The rope around her tits loosened, and she orgasmed again as intense pain flooded through her from the blood rushing back into the abused udders.

“For what it’s worth, princess, my examination of the curse suggests your tits *will* stop growing before they’re big enough to be actively harmful to your health,” laughed Erlanthor. “But by that stage they will be so large that no one will ever take you seriously as anything other than a sex-object and animal again. You will not be able to rule the kingdom. But I will serve well as your vizier. And my first act will be to find that witch and pay her whatever it takes to put that curse at the kingdom’s disposal. I think the kingdom will run so much better once more of its young women want to be *useful*, don’t you?”

The Regent came, spurting his seed into her fertile womb, and all Ellie could do was mooo…

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