Page 9 of Milk
“Normally, I prefer the organic method of getting information,” I said, opening the drawer at the top of my desk. I reached for my silver cigarette case decorated with cows grazing under the Swiss Alps. “Lead me to him.”
Igor nodded and went ahead. I walked just behind him to the large, empty warehouse at the back of the facility. Jason, Tiffany’s partner in crime, sat in the middle of the room with his hands tied behind his back. He had been caught trying to climb the fence in an attempt to retrieve his fallen drone, which suited me perfectly. It saved my security team the trouble of retrieving the man from Henderson’s farm.
“You’re sweating, Mister Miller. You must be craving some hydration,” I said as I walked into the warehouse, ever the gentleman.
I gestured to one of my white-jumpsuit-clad goons and no further context was needed. In minutes, another man was entering the room carrying a tall glass of cold milk. Igor reached for it, wanting to feed it to the prisoner himself.
I would much rather do the honors. I stretched my hand to stop the security expert, then I took the glass and approached Jason.
His face was swollen and beaten, but there were no signs of missing teeth or broken bones. Igor had been gentle so far. The man could grind bones bare-knuckled if he wished. I stood nextto Jason and gently caressed his head. His hair was cut short, a little more than fuzz. I ran my fingers through it; the texture wasn’t dissimilar to the fuzz on cattle.
“Drink. It will be good for you,” I said in my best fatherly tone and brought the glass to his lips.
I let him take on a few sips of the milk, tilting the glass and encouraging more until some began to dribble down his chin. I frowned and pulled the glass back, setting it straight and handing it to one of my associates. I couldn’t stand wasted milk. I took out a handkerchief to wipe the dripping milk from Jason’s face, making my motions slow and tender. Pocketing it in the front pocket of my suit, I dipped my head and said, “There, doesn’t that feel much b-…”
Before I could finish, Jason lifted his head and spat the milk across my face, splattering it all over me. Some of it dripped down, soaking my collar. I sighed, annoyed but otherwise unmoved by his display of defiance.
“What do you think about that, you sick bastard?” Jason grunted, furious.
“I think,” I began, slowly reaching back for my handkerchief in my suit’s front pocket and wiping the lenses of my glasses before putting them on again. “That you just wasted some prime quality milk.”
I licked my lips, much to his shock, cleaning them from the spat milk before wiping the rest of his chin with the same piece of cloth. White with beautiful black cow pattern spots. I noticed the drop of milk that had splashed off me and back onto Jason’s cheek. I frowned. I wouldn’t tolerate waste. I grabbed his head and leaned down, holding his chin firmly. With a long, languid lapping of my tongue, I licked it off Jason’s face. I tasted his sweat mixing with the sweetness of the milk and felt a vague rush of arousal. Not caused by Jason’s taste, but merely by exerting my power over him.
Jason was more than shocked. He was confused, disgusted, and terrified. That was almost as delicious as the milk. While I licked his face, I used his distraction to reveal the needle I’d taken from my silver cigarette case. I injected the fluid into his neck with precise practice before he could even realize the trouble he was in. Then, I pulled back from the chair and turned to Igor.
“That should take care of his stubbornness. Give it ten to twenty minutes to act, and he will sing whatever tune you request.” With that, I was done. I began to walk out of the warehouse.
“Sir, are you not staying for the rest of the interrogation?”
“No, I trust you, Igor. Keep using a gentle touch, and send me whatever details you learn from him.” I told him without turning back. “Thanks to Mister Miller here, I have to get changed. I have a very important appointment with a very special person. I’ll tell Miss Thompson you sent your regards, Mister Miller.”
I happily left him to his fate.
Ilooked at my phone for what felt like the hundredth time since they had sat me in the empty waiting room. Susan had left me there with assurances that someone would come to meet me soon and guide me, but so far I was alone.
As time passed, I memorized the room. It was shaped like a perfect cube, with a single flickering fluorescent lamp up high, constantly buzzing. My only company was a single plastic plant in the corner and a large mirror in the wall in front of me. I kept staring at the single paper poster in yellow and black that seemed right out of an advertisement from the 1950s. It displayed a boy with a big glass of milk and the words ‘Drink Milk!’ printed in bold letters on the bottom. That was the only entertainment offered other than the full glass of milk I’d been offered. The only way in and out of the room were two dull green doors that I’d already discovered were locked.
I sighed impatiently. I didn’t want to play games on my phone while I waited for them to come to collect me. It would be unprofessional.
They could’ve offered me a little more than a glass of their milk,I thought. At first, I refused to drink any of it, shifting my weight from one butt-cheek to the other as I sat on the single hardwood bench in the room and occasionally checked my phone for the time.
I’d been there for one hour and my tour hadn’t started. No one had come to explain what the hold-up was either. If I was a Federal Agent, I’d be flunking them on the inspection out of pettiness.
My blood ran cold. What if they had seen through my cover? What if they were holding me there to wait for the police?
I got up and started pacing.
The room was hotter than expected too. I fanned myself, trying to calm down. It had to be my panic, not the temperature. The A/C had been blowing earlier. Either way, I was thirsty and the sweating glass of milk started to look tempting. So, I finally gave in and moved to grab it, taking a small sip just to banish the dryness from my mouth.
I had never tasted Sunshine Sanctuary’s milk before. As I did, I understood why they charged twenty-five bucks a carton in Trader Joe’s and why so many people paid it. It was delicious, naturally sweet and creamy, just thick enough to get that velvety smooth texture without being too thick. It was just fatty enough to grease the tongue and throat and go down easy without leaving an unpleasant film on one’s mouth. I couldn’t resist it; I had to take a larger sip of it and swish it around my mouth to allow my taste buds to get the full flavor before swallowing again.
This is fucking delicious, I realized, a little dismayed.
After my bout of pacing, I sat once again and waited. My eyes kept going back to the glass waiting for me on that side table. Before I knew it, I was drinking it again and again. Large gulps each time until it was empty. With some guilt from enjoying what was likely the result of really shady animal exploitation, I felt a pleasant, warm and fuzzy feeling.
A couple of minutes after I placed the empty glass down, the door from which I had entered opened and Susan came in, carrying a tray with a full glass of milk.
“Susan, can you go check what’s taking so l-” I began, but she walked right by me, replacing the glass and walking away with the old one. She closed the door without acknowledging me.
