Page 14 of Milk
“Susan, I ask you this with all due respect,” I began, calmly, but felt my tone quickly growing angry and loud. “Are you fucking allergic to knocking?!”
Susan was surprised by the sight of me masturbating and by my angry tone. She knew me as a calm man, almost always level-headed. She had seen me sign a business deal, make a call to a doctor’s routine appointment, and execute someone point-blank with a gun without betraying any emotion. Yet now, I was angry over something so minor. I regretted my tone.
“I just … I had some stuff I wanted to go over before I closed for the day…” She said, pausing for a moment, taking a deep breath, and continuing. “I don’t get it, sir. Honestly, what’s so special abouther?”
The way Susan said ‘her’ made me frown. I tucked myself back into my pants, pulling my handkerchief to wipe the pre-cum from my fingers. I got up and gestured for her to place the folders on my desk.
“You don’t see it, Susan, do you?”
“See what, sir? We have so many other women at the facility. All are so readily … available, to put it mildly, and so many women outside this world would give anything for a rich, powerful, handsome man like you. And yet, it’s the dumpy, fat woman with a skin defect that finally catches your eye?”
“Catch my eye? My, my, Susan. That’s such a lack of vision.” I laughed, moving to my bar on the other side of the office. I opened the small fridge camouflaged in the wooden cabinets.
I pulled out a jar of milk and poured myself a glass before turning and seeing Susan still had a puzzled look on her face. I sighed. I felt the cold air of the fridge against my skin and tooka sip of milk. Delicious. Absolute velveteen perfection in liquid form.
“I am not merely infatuated. I mean, I am that, but this is more. I recognize Tiffany for what she is…” I paused. Something Susan said rubbed me wrong, and it was worth highlighting. “She doesn’t have a ‘defect.’ She is perfect. A prime specimen. The start of something big…”
“Something big, Sir?” Susan asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You’ll have to trust me on that, Susan,” I said. “In the meantime, perhaps it will be enough for me to say that she is as important to me as Wren is to you. Would that be sufficient?”
Susan blushed, tucking a bit of her red hair behind her ear, then giving me a slow nod. A meaningful one. The mooing coming from my computer made it clear what I was watching, but I knew she had her own special interest in our stalls.
“Yes, sir. I apologize.”
“That’s okay. I’ll handle the paperwork myself,” I said, “You can go home.”
“It will be faster if I go through it with you, sir.”
“No need. I will do it. Once Ifinish.”
Susan blushed, nodded, and then left. I closed the door to my office, locked it, and went back to my chair. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. As I sat down, I zoomed in on Tiffany again, took a sip of my milk, and freed my erection. Watching her squirm, seeing her thighs tense, getting that perfect view of her pussy drove me insane. I began to stroke myself once more. There was an unpleasant dryness even though I was still rock hard. All the pre-cum I’d slathered over my skin earlier was useless now. I took the glass of milk and poured it over my crotch. It was a waste of milk. It was wrong and taboo, yet it was so hot. So fucking hot.
My hand began to move faster as I switched the camera to look at Tiffany from the front, looking at her heavy tits danglingunder her, like udders, spotted with the marks of her condition. I grunted and moaned in time with my rhythmic strokes. I imagined sucking her perfect tits while fucking her – another violation of the rules. She’d moo for me while her perfect pussy clenched around my erection and her milk flowed down my throat. My eyes narrowed as my hips flexed. I wasn’t stroking myself anymore. I was fucking my hand, desperately. The same way I’d fuck her – unchained, untamed, like the wild animal she made me want to be. Soon my own ‘milk’ joined the fluids spilt down across my tensing thighs.
Ididn’t remember falling asleep, but I must have, since I woke up. I was sure that the only reason I was able to get any shuteye at was due to sheer exhaustion from all that had happened. A growing terror filled me. Everything that was supposed to be a nightmare - the underground facility, the women tied to stalls like cattle, the cattle prods, the fact that Carter Hill had abducted me - all of that was real. Most importantly, I was still naked, my fat, heavy body bent over so that my huge tits hung beneath me and my legs were spread. My hips ached from the position alone, but the humiliation was worse. I felt like an animal ready to be bred… There was no dignity in that. My stall smelled like piss and my tits were sore from hanging all night. I knew they were heavy, but this was more than I bargained for.
After blinking a few times, I noticed what had changed. The mirror was gone. I was now staring at an empty stall in frontof me. It took me another moment to realize that the stalls were much quieter than the night before. The desperate mooing was gone and, aside from a few voices chatting, I didn’t hear anything.
Relief washed over me first. The quiet was beautiful. However, relief quickly turned into maddening confusion as I paid attention to the voices. They were casual and ... happy? Women spoke to each other easily, as if they were out shopping. The sound of a group of women talking always made me uncomfortable. Bullies, groups of girls that would whisper when I walked by, that would play cruel pranks, had constantly hurt me in ways I didn’t know I could be hurt.
It was better than the mooing, but more confusing, more anxiety inducing.
Calm down, Tiffany,I thought,We’re all stuck here and that’s enough to worry about.
Escaping was more important than reliving my trauma. Trauma couldn’t lock me up in a stall, milk me, fuck me, and hold me hostage. Carter could do that. Carter planned to do that. Getting out of here was much more important.
“My farmhand was so nice to me today, my legs are still like jelly. I’m all wobbly.”
“Will you stop bragging, Brenda? You won’t shut up about how good you have it,” said a mean, strong voice among the group.
Was I hearing it right? Were theyhappyabout having sex with a farmhand? Weren’t these women prisoners like me? They couldn’t actually be enjoying their condition. I shook my head, refusing to believe it. I couldn’t call out to them or speak, as I still had the mouth-spreader on. All the same, I sensed the voices coming closer.
“S-sorry, Jen,” the one named ‘Brenda’ said submissively.
“I really wish Mr. Hill would come down here and fuck me himself. God, he’s so sexy,” Jen said.
“He doesn’t fuck any of the girls,” another voice said. Jen must’ve given her a pretty aggressive look because she quickly amended. “It’s what I heard.”
