Page 53 of Milk
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
Ihad no idea life could be this good. Carter treated me like a prized cow and a beloved girlfriend at the same time. I was underground most of the time and lost track of the date without a calendar, a computer, or a phone to remind me. At some point, Carter moved me to that strange, large hall with artificial sunlight and several homes, where I had met with Wren and where the drugs were injected into me by Dr. Yang. This time, the underground neighborhood was bustling with life. One of those houses was given to me, and while I could see there were cameras everywhere, I was given free rein to come and go as I pleased. So were most of the girls, or ‘cows,’ as they called themselves, that lived there.
The first few days, their constant smiling and their unending joy shocked me. I was sure I was in some kind of cult compound. As time passed, though, I understood it. We weren’t worried about bills. We weren’t worried about where our next mealwould come from. We were fucked, milked, taken care of in an unconventional, but thorough way which made it easy to relax and enjoy what we had.
Wren and I talked about it when she was there. We’d never spent so much time just talking happily rather than complaining. She convinced me to join the ‘Milk Maid’s Book club,’ and said that they called the little residential complex ‘The Ranch.’ There were around two hundred women living there. Not as captives, but as workers.
“Workers? You gotta be kidding me.”
“Tiff?” Wren looked at me, incredulous. “I’m a Black Woman. Do you think I would stay with Susan if she were okay putting a Black Woman to work for free?”
I paused. The answer should’ve been ‘no’, but I’d never thought about it that way. “Uh… So, you get paid?”
“Of course, I get paid. I get dental. I get free healthcare. And Carter’s Clinic is top-notch.”
“Really?”
“Yes. We all get that and vacations,” she said brightly.
“Vacations?”
“Yup.”
“But you could just run away, right?” I was trying to make this make sense.
“Run away from this gig?” Wren tilted her head. “Look, we all signed the same NDA. We are all here voluntarily. The gig is good. Carter pays us well. He gives everyone a ten percent deposit to a retirement fund and if we want to put more, he’ll match our value up to twenty percent of what we get paid.”
“Vacation, benefits, pension…” I trailed off, hung up on the fact she’d mentioned a contract, being here willingly ... I didn’t sign anything.
“And orgasms. Don’t forget that.”
I laughed and tried to push down my other thoughts. It didn’t work. I was a slave, a captive there, and I had assumed that everyone else was. I was wrong.
More importantly, everyone was extremely well compensated for their time. I thought about my own experience with Carter. While I wasn’t milked and fucked by the farmhands, Carter would visit me daily to pump my breasts, often while fingering me, eating me out or eating my ass. And gosh, those were some of the best orgasms I’d ever experienced. I was lonely when the girls went to work and Carter wasn’t around, but Wren had apparently collected a huge number of books, most of them erotica, and even a Kindle where she could read them once the physical book collection became too much. So, I threw myself into reading.
Wren’s tastes for erotica included the weird and the rough. I was a little shocked at first that someone who had been sexually assaulted enjoyed reading about women being tied up and offered to well-hung monsters with chiseled chests. When I finished the first novel, soaking wet and breathing heavily, I understood the appeal. I had sexual violence in my past, too, and this wasn’t it.
This was ‘for me’, not done to me.
The books focused on the women’s perspective, the ‘attacks’ were neither realistic nor meant to be. They were just believable enough to offer a window into guiltless sex. It turned out the swamp monster, or the werewolf, or any other lead would always eat pussy before fucking the heroine, and by the time the book ended, she fell in love with the monster; not because of their huge cocks, but because of their heart and passion, but the huge cocks didn’t hurt.
I thought about my own monster, Carter. At his core, he was a tormented boy. Someone who had suffered and gone through horrible things. Sure, he was keeping me captive, butconsidering how good my life was now and how bad it was before, things could be much worse.
The evil thing I thought he was doing to other girls turned out to be only as evil as the average capitalist. Perhaps less, given the wide benefits. So why wouldn’t my monsters fuck me like the ones in Wren’s stories?
At was night, or at least when the fake sun was dimmed, we were all gathered at the home of a tiny redhead with massive tits, Diana, discussingThe Swamp Thing Wants to do My Ass. Despite the cheesy title, the story touched on some interesting themes about identity and marginalized people finding love in unusual places.
I thought about how strange my life was while I made that point and the unusual place I’d found love. I got a lot of nods from the girls and sighed in quiet contentment. Maybe life wasn’t terrible? Maybe I could be happy with Carter, the Milk Maid’s Book Club, the Ranch, the other cows, and my monster porn?
Then I heard the sound of the large metal doors opening. This was weird, for however long I had been there - weeks? Months? - The doors only opened twice a day. When the cows went to ‘work’ on the ‘Barn’ in their milking stalls and when they returned. Never at night. Everyone rushed to the window, and we saw a strange form walking in.
I swallowed hard as it came to me. He wasn’t wearing the bull rubber mask, but I recognized that unshapely monster of muscle. The memory of shoving the electro-ejaculator on his ass hit me. Any doubt it was really him was undone when he turned and the light of one of the lamp posts illuminated his dick. The women around me gasped. Wren choked on her water. Everyone pressed against the window.
Around his neck, there was a plastic shock collar. His head was shaved and a piercing had been placed through his nose, but as his face came into view, I couldn’t ignore the obvious.
“J-Jason?”
Istood in the security office, surrounded by screens, but Dr. Yan and Susan were all watching just one of them. The entrance to the Ranch. Through the black and white feed, I saw the lumbering form of our prisoner, the Bull, walking down across the dirt road, disoriented. Lost. We had drugged him for transport, but if he were to try anything as the drugs wore off, the shock collar would quickly correct that behavior. Susan looked at me with a mix of disapproval and concern, but I ignored it.
