Page 22 of Bears Not Included

“In due course.”

“Are you ready to confess it all to us? Who sent you here? Who are you working with?”

“No one sent me, please. Believe me. My mom—”

“As you wish.”

“Please stop this. I can’t take it anymore.”

“Is your pussy wet?”

I would rather die than admit something so intimate to my captives.

“The longer you don’t cooperate, the longer you’re going to suffer, pretty girl. Is your pussy wet?”

“Yes,” I whisper, humiliated, and my head drops low.

Everything inside me makes a full circle and crashes. I’m astonished and confused when droplets of liquid fall from my nipples. I’m leaking from my breasts. There is no other way of putting it.

“You’re lactating.”

What? There isn’t enough shock in the world to explain how I’m feeling.

I’m leaking from my breasts.

“Now all you have to do is lean over the bowl, squeeze your tits, and fill the bowl with your milk.”

Are they insane? What a stupid, banal thing to ask. They’re beyond insane.

“Please don’t make me do it.” I’m sobbing now. The heat inside me is relentless.

“Perhaps you should've told us who sent you here and what you were looking for when we asked.”

“I’m not working with anyone. The only thing I was looking for was this cottage because... I have a fascination with... fairytales. It’s the truth.”

Who do they think I am? I'm nobody. I’m broken. My mother threw herself off a balcony because I wasn’t enough to make her stay. I stupidly still want to please my father, because I know he hates me, but I want him to love me.

But no amount of emotional pain can take away the barbaric need inside me. I’m possessed, and I can’t release myself from the madness they created.

“You’ll start to feel better if you follow the instructions, Livia.”

Whatever I ate made me obscenely aroused and made my breasts leak with milk. I don’t know how it’s possible, but the evidence inside me is irrefutable.

Oh god. I can’t believe my body is doing this.

Defeated, angry, and confused, with tears running down my face, I lean over the table, use both my hands on one of my breasts, and squeeze. I have to squeeze harder, and I have to pinch my nipples.

I can only hope that they can’t see me. If the cameras are all around me, then maybe being bent over the table will block their view of me being reduced to this.

Milk starts to squirt out of me and splashes against the sides of the wooden bowl. A sliver of relief washes over, and I’m obsessed now with emptying my other breast as well.

But the more I squeeze and relieve my full, heavy breasts, the more my pussy aches, throbs, and pounds with the need to be touched.

I have to get out of here.

The reprieve I’ve given from emptying my breasts has made me stronger.

“What else do I have to do?” I hiss as I stand up straight, uncaring that drops of milk are still oozing from my nipples now.

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