Maid, Part 4 (Patreon)

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Summary: A woman is hexed by her employer and develops a small, growing udder. Contains: Female: udder development, breast expansion, possibly more.

Previous Chapter

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Anna squeezed herself into the black and white outfit, then frowned down at the result.

As she had expected, the short skirt didn’t cover the udder, the bloated pink mound bulging visibly out at the bottom. Self-consciously, she smoothed the skirt down, to no effect.

The neckline was very low cut, revealing a generous amount of her new cleavage. Anna absently tried to tug it up, but it was a hapless endeavor, and if she managed to slide it a centimeter, that much more of her udder became visible under the skirts. She was helplessly exposed.

It must have purely been adrenaline that got her to walk out that door. Her heart was racing, hands sweaty, and her long, wavy hair hung around her face, curtaining her from eyes that would stare.

She burst into the dining hall before she thought too much about it, before she really contemplated what would meet her there, or how she would handle it.

The hall had been turned into a home casino. Several round game tables had been set up around the room, and a few dozen people were cluttered around them, holding cards, placing bets, passing chips around as they talked enthusiastically and sipped drinks. A buffet had been set up in a grand presentation of rare meats, expensive cheeses, foreign breads, and ripe, tropical produce.

The attendees were comprised of mostly men, with a few scattered women. They were dressed in fine garments that spoke of their wealth. All were immersed in their games until Anna proved a distraction, because steadily the room quieted down, as one by one, gazes shifted. Eyes widened. Jaws fell.

Then everyone was staring. At her. Compulsively, she smoothed down her skirt against the pink mound of her udder. She could spot Mr. Wallace seated at one of the tables, sipping his drink, as he watched her with an uncharacteristic contentedness that clashed with his usually-dour demeanor.

Anna stood frozen, as the small gathering continued to drink her in, some looking confused, doubtful, or just stunned. A few eyes narrowed with dark excitement.

Then Annette appeared. She herself looked at Anna with astonishment, but somehow managed to remain poised. “Come here,” she hissed, as she dragged Anna into the kitchens that adjoined dining the hall.

There, Anna’s hands were laden with a tray of beverages. She was hastily given drink orders to fill, and she tried her best to remember the table assignment for each glass.

She fumbled her way through the night, barely managing to balance drinks and appetizers as she served them out. She got orders numerous times, but the guests hardly seemed to notice of care, all too preoccupied with staring at the swaying pink mound pushing out beneath her skirt.

Anna was ordered to interact, even flirt a little to butter people up and get more drink orders. She tried, but everything she said came out stilted and acerbic. Her attempts at smiling only produced pained expressions. She was intensely uncomfortable, and so were some of the guests.

Others weren’t uncomfortable, but cheery, tipsy, or just intensely interested in her. She found herself maneuvering away from groping hands and fingers that tried to settle themselves on her waist, her hips, even her arse at one point. But all were too tentative to settle on her udder so far.

Just when Anna had thought that things couldn’t get any worse, she was taught to run a game, meaning she was forced to stay in one place, where her table to guests was free to ogle her. She was awkward and fumbled her way through distributing chips. She bowed her head as she arranged the game, but she could still feel the leers coming from every direction. People pointed and whispered of what Mr. Wallace had done to her. They debated on whether it was more appealing than disturbing. They licked their lips and became fixated.

Anna leaned down to deal cards to the seven players, Mr. Wallace amongst them. A whimper escaped her throat as her udder pressed against the edge of the table, but she sealed her lips shut, and pretended it had not occurred, even when a few of the players furrowed their eyebrows or tilted their heads at her.

Anna had been trying to keep her hips back and maneuver herself to avoid impact, but it was proving next to impossible when she was repetitively leaning down and trying to reach to the far side of the table to move game pieces and chips and deal cards.

Her udder was tender. It had been two hours already, and the mass was feeling hot, tight, and bloated. Its exposure to the cool air was a strange relief on her sensitive teats, but all of the bobbing and rocking after a long day of work was uncomfortable and distracting.

She tried to breathe through the building heat and soreness, the growing pressure that made her feel tight to bursting.

She was grateful when she proved such a disaster at running games that she was placed back onto serving duties.

By then, her nerves were completely frayed, and her arms were shaking. She successfully delivered two plates, before a stumble sent her platter clattering to the floor. Thankfully nothing broke, but everyone’s attention once again darted to her.

Arms quavering violently, Anna knelt down to collect the fallen dishes, and as she did, her udder pressed against the floor, making her go rigid, a hiss of discomfort escaping her lips. Containing the urge to cradle the udder with a supportive hand, she shifted slightly and hastily collected the plates. She then hauled herself up and hurried back to the kitchens, breaths erratic in her quiet panic.

Annette was yammering something at her, but Anna could hardly focus. She shuffled towards the toilets, needing just a moment to herself, when she felt a calloused pair of arms on her shoulders. Startled by the contact, she looked up.

A tall, middle-aged man was suddenly pressing her into the wall. He leaned down, chuckling softly, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. He was clearly drunk. He leaned in close, his hot breath blowing against her neck. His hands reached down, not to her hips or her arse, but towards her udder, fingers extending, just managing to graze her pink flesh in a way that made her moan, body arching, hips pushing forward, pushing her mound against his tentative contact.

The man was roughly torn away from her. An irritated Mr. Wallace stood in his place. Anna was left gasping and scrambling to right herself, smoothing her skirt. She didn’t know what had come over her.

“Do not touch the help,” said Wallace sternly.

The older man raised his hands in playful remorse. “Of course, of course,” he placated.

Her udder throbbed, teats stinging slightly, then becoming tingly. Anna looked down just as she began to drip milk to the floor before her. She shuffled in mortification.

Wallace sighed. “What a mess,” he grumbled, as he turned away. “Come along then.”

Anna knew he was talking to her. Reluctant as she was to do so, she forced her feet to move, carrying her after Mr. Wallace, and back into the dining room, her four teats continuing to drip, creating a trail of splattered milk on the floor as she proceeded.

The room had been changed in her absence. The game tables had been cleared to be replaced with small dining ones, guests sitting with final drinks, cups of coffee, and decadent deserts. The lighting was low and the sconces glittered on the walls, adding a layer of elegance to the already sumptuous hall.

Wallace led Anna back to his table, but there was no seat for her. Of course, he wouldn’t intend for her to dine with him in the presence of company. She had no dishes to serve either, so she stood there awkwardly, feeling unbalanced, sort of teetering on her tired feet. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. They longed to support her throbbing udder, but she managed to fold them over her skirt, as she pressed her lips and doggedly pretended not to notice the mess she was making on the floor.

“I want only the best for my guests, only the freshest ingredients,” Wallace said as he sat, the already quiet room getting yet stiller, as even the whispers and murmurs tapered off, and people leaned to listen. Wallace nodded to Anna. “Serve them.”

Anna was slightly confused. She began to turn to head back to the kitchen to retrieve any remaining dishes, but Wallace halted her with a raise of his hand. “Serve them,” he commanded again.

She was so hot and weary. Sweat soaked her forehead, her chest, and her udder. The situation was desperately uncomfortable and she just wanted to be excused. She didn’t know what Wallace wanted from her. She had no dishes to serve.

She was so full. The pressure was growing, and she struggled to contain it, to keep the flow from exacerbating and becoming horrible squirts.

“Serve them,” Wallace demanded.

She finally understood.

Anna made her way over to the table, lifted a glass, and lowered it. She allowed the milk from her teat to dribble in. When that was taking too long, she even gave her teat a gentle tug, which roused a quiet grunt from her throat, but it was clearly heard in the otherwise silent room.

When she had managed to fill the glass, she lifted it back up and offered it to the guest she had gotten it from.

The elderly woman was astonished. In fact, most faces sustained their earlier looks of shock, but some faces broke with laughter, bemusement, and pleasure. Some guests gave her lascivious looks.

And Mr. Wallace appeared stern but satisfied. He gave a slight nod, and Anna knew she was finally free to go.

-

The next morning, Anna was so exhausted, she could hardly bring herself to crawl out of bed. But she did, as always.

She was surprised to see a large gift basket set upon her table. It had wine, fruit, and a huge assortment of cheeses. It looked so out of place in her room, Anna was certain it must have been placed there by accident.

Hesitantly, she lifted the card, her eyes flowing over the elegant handwriting.

“You left quite the impression on me at your employer’s gathering last night. Please accept this gift. –Dennis Whitman”

Anna tried to remember who he was, if she had served a Mr. Whitman. But there had been too many names and faces, and she just couldn’t organize them in her head. She kept thinking that the whole thing had been a dream, but then there was the gift basket, and her sore legs, and her udder which felt heavy and swollen and sore.

She absently glided her fingers over one of the apples, the fruit looking bright, fresh, and sweet. She had expected disgust, abuse, and ostracization. So to receive a token of appreciation was certainly surprising. She had never received a gift from anyone in her life, and it warmed her heart, making her forget, just for a moment, how disastrous her life had become.

Anna lifted a piece of cheese and took a nipple from it. It was creamy, tangy, decadent, and made her chest twinge in a strange way that she was sure she had only imagined a moment later. She continued to nibble on the cheese as she got ready for the day.

-

“What’s…this?” Anna managed at the end of the work day, after she had dragged herself back to her quarters, feeling on the brink of collapse. She had endured two days and a night of work with no sleep between them, and was due for some well-earned rest.

Before she could enter her room, however, she had encountered another maid pinning something to her door.

“Your bill,” said the other girl, failing to meet Anna’s eyes.

“What?” said Anna in confusion.

“Mr. Wallace says you won’t be eating here or using the facilities for free anymore.” With that, the other maid hurried off.

Anna was gobsmacked. She pulled the bill off the door and quickly scanned it with her eyes.

It wasn’t a massive amount of money, but it was still more than she could have afforded were she even getting paid anymore. It included things like food, hot water, and electricity. So now she was not only out of job and working for free, but she was accumulating debt as well.

She face reddened in frustration. She went angrily into her quarters but couldn’t bring herself to slam the door.