Nine

NINE

The milking machine was finished within three weeks. Once Luke had gotten the idea in his head about milking and drinking from her, he’d been a man possessed. He’d been religious about the hormones and massaging and suckling her breasts, never allowing her to achieve orgasm unless his mouth was latched firmly around one nipple. The guys had created a Frankenstein machine. Part milking and part fucking. It was a frightening-looking contraption that incorporated a bench for her to lie on her stomach. There were places for her breasts to be squeezed for milk, and two penetrating toys that would vibrate and drive into her repeatedly until she nearly went mad from the overwhelming sensations.

The feeling of being squeezed by the machine for milk was painful but also arousing. Without milk, it was going through the motions, but Luke was diligent, convinced that if he was patient, he’d get what he wanted out of her body.

Each night after dinner, Luke put her on the machine for an hour while he dealt with other things like making her list of chores for the following day and any bookkeeping or computer work he needed to do.

Before starting the machine each night, he lubed the parts meant to penetrate her. Then he turned it on a steady speed and left her alone. A strap around her waist secured her to the bench, making escape impossible. The only thing she could do was give in. Two months into this routine, the milk came.

Luke had brought his laptop into the playroom to work from the couch, a coffee pot plugged into the wall and a cup of black coffee in his hand. It had been his pattern for several weeks as if he didn’t want to leave her and miss it when it happened.

It started as a tingling and pressure, like pins and needles in her breasts. Between the machine and the vibrators working inside her, it was hard to isolate any one feeling from the whole.

Veronica writhed against the vibrating toys while she watched in fascination as the machine milked her, and the creamy liquid dripped into a glass bottle like the one in the fridge with the cow’s milk. Luke unfolded himself from the couch and approached the machine like a big cat stalking prey. He turned it off and smirked at the bottle.

He watched her, sipping his coffee for a while, then he took the bottle off the machine and poured a bit into his cup. She watched helplessly as he raised it to his lips and took a gulp of the coffee with her milk in it. It was humiliating and arousing all at once.

“I normally like it black, but that’s good coffee,” he said, glee plainly written on his face at his success. “Let’s find out if you taste as good from the tap.”

She didn’t fight him when he helped her off the bench and to the couch. As the time had passed between them, she’d given up the desire for escape. She’d become too addicted to the way Luke and his men touched her and too comfortable with a warm bed, food, and shelter. The weather had turned cold, and these were important things. It was too late for her to have another life, and despite what she was supposed to want, this one satisfied her.

Except on rare occasions when she especially pleased him and he invited her into his bed for the night, she slept in her own room. It had begun to bother her less. He didn’t call her Trish now, but sometimes when he called her sweetheart or dear, she wondered which woman he saw. As the time had crept by, it had gotten harder to obsess over the point. The only thing that mattered was the way he made her feel.

He’d been mostly kind—only punishing her when she disobeyed him. The terrifying day at the lake became a dim memory and seemed as if it might have been a dream. He never brought it up again.

Luke’s mouth descended on her breast and he suckled. He moaned as the milk began to flow down his throat. If she’d worried he might find the actual taste gross, the worry had been in vain. He drank from each breast until he’d drained her, which didn’t take long.

“You’ll produce more as time goes on.” He kissed the tips of her breasts and cradled her in his arms, then he went back and finished his work. That night, she slept in his room.

* * *

The next morningthere was no injection. The break in the routine was startling, but not unexpected. Now that she was lactating, it wasn’t necessary.

At breakfast, Will said, “I hear you’re producing milk like a good cow.”

Veronica looked down at her plate, her heart racing, the throb and ache starting between her thighs. Involuntarily, at her arousal, she felt the tingling in her breasts and then the milk as it seeped out and wet her dress.

“Go to him,” Luke prompted.

She forced herself to get up from the table and went around to Will. He pulled her onto his lap as soon as she was in easy reach. Since the weather had turned colder, plastic had been put around the porch, and space heaters kept the area somewhat warm. She took her sweater off, and he pushed the thin spaghetti straps of the dress off her shoulders, eliciting a shiver.

A second drop of milk bubbled at the end of one breast and then the other, her body already knowing what was coming and anticipating the release from the bit of milk that had built up in the night.

“Milk them,” he said. “The best cow is a cow that can milk herself.”

Her face burned at his words, but her hands moved to her breasts to obey his demand. She massaged them and tugged and pulled on the nipples until milk began to come out and dribble down. The ranch hand moved in and licked up the liquid and then latched on to one breast to suck.

“Save some for Robert,” Luke said. “She’s not producing much yet.”

Will forced himself to stop after a few seconds. He looked wistfully at her breasts. “I can’t wait until her tits are heavy with the stuff. She’ll beg us to drink from her to relieve the pressure. Freida was such a needy little whore when she was producing.”

Veronica hadn’t been nervous about Will not liking it; he’d drunk from his wife. But Robert only found the idea hot. To her knowledge, he hadn’t actually done it. But when he tasted her, he was as pleased with the result as Luke and Will had been.

“She’s so fucking sweet,” Robert said.

Feeding the men like this made her feel a touch less human—more a thing or animal and less a person. It should have distressed her more, but it was too easy to get lost in the pleasurable sensations, in someone else’s satisfaction and happiness.

Jake watched the proceedings with a disgusted look on his face, as if the whole affair were spoiling his breakfast. It filled Veronica with shame, and she wished he’d just leave, but when Robert stroked between her thighs, she was so worked up and well-conditioned that she couldn’t stop herself from coming against his fingers. Finally, he released her nipple and held her against his chest, stroking her hair. She was grateful for the comfort.

“Come on,” Robert said to Jake.

“No, that’s nasty. I don’t know what’s wrong with you guys. The other kinks are one thing, but... this crosses a line.”

The ranch hand’s judgment cut into Veronica, making her feel dirty. If everyone behaved as if it were okay, it could be okay here. Her world had narrowed to the ranch and nothing else. Her ranch, her sky, her ranch hands. But with the one hold-out, she was reminded how wrong everything that was happening was. It brought back who she’d been in the city. In the city she might have masturbated to an idea this depraved, but she wouldn’t have actually done it. Would she? She wanted all of them to drink from her, to make what they were doing feel okay. If even one of them wouldn’t conform inside the fantasy bubble, it would only bring reality crashing back in all its stark coldness.

“Just taste her, once,” Will persisted. “If you hate it, we won’t bother you again.”

“Oh, fuck. Fine, bring her over here.”

Veronica tensed in his arms as he closed his mouth over her breast and sucked. She expected him to immediately push her away in revulsion after a drop or two had hit his tongue, but he swallowed the milk and kept drinking. His hands tightened around her arms as he gripped her and fed on her.

When he’d had his fill, his mouth moved up to her throat to kiss and suck, and then to her mouth, where he kissed her with a passion he’d never shown with her. Before she could catch her breath, he picked her up and shoved his chair back. He pushed back the plastic flap and carried her to the grass and dropped her there.

For a moment she thought he was disgusted with himself and what he’d just enjoyed. Maybe he wanted to let her freeze. Surely Luke wouldn’t let him keep her out there. She wasn’t sure what was about to happen until she heard his belt and then the zipper of his pants.

No one stopped him as he shoved her dress up over her hips and entered her from behind. She gasped as he filled her, driving into her in a frenzied state that had her tearing at the frozen grass under her hands for something to hold onto. The stiffness of his erection left no doubt to how much he’d enjoyed feeding on her, and that he’d do it again soon.

When he finished with her, he got up and went back to the table. Veronica pulled her dress down and rolled over, looking up at the sky. The ground underneath her back was cool and the air was chilly. The sky hadn’t quite turned that endless gray yet. Despite the cold, it still had a sharp jolt of bright blue. There were no clouds.

“Veronica, come back inside. You’ll catch your death out there with no shoes on,” Luke said. The plastic around the porch muffled his voice, making him seem too far away to reach her.

She stayed where she was, pretending she hadn’t heard him, looking up at vast expanse of sky. Of course he wasn’t going to give her shoes—even now. Since it had turned cold, she’d been cooped up inside, the leftover outside chores she would have had falling to Will.

Luke still didn’t trust her. He was never going to trust her not to run. She jumped when footsteps pounded toward her, then Luke bent and scooped her up to carry her back onto the porch where it was warmer. He put her back in her chair and went to his seat.

“Didn’t you hear me yell at you to come inside? You’ll freeze out there.”

Veronica shrugged, still feeling surly about the shoes.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I want shoes. I’ve been here for months. Don’t you trust me not to run away?”

Luke went back to his breakfast, ignoring the demand and the question. “I’ve decided to make a change around here. From now on, you’ll address the guys with respect. No first names. I only want to hear ‘Yes, Sir’ and ‘No, Sir’ out of you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” she mumbled. It was ridiculous and the wrong thing to focus on, but she felt as if she were being cast off. If everybody got the same title, was he saying she wasn’t really just his anymore? The brand had finally healed to the point where it wasn’t sore anymore. She wondered if even his brand meant anything between them, if everyone was to be called Sir at the ranch.

“Yes, Master,” he corrected.

Veronica looked up suddenly, her eyes going wide. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me. Say it.”

She looked around the table at the ranch hands. They watched her, waiting to hear her say the degrading phrase. In all of the videos, Trish had called Luke, Sir. To Veronica’s knowledge none of the other ranch hands had gotten titles. Veronica had been his slave for months, what was verbal acknowledgment in the face of everything else? Still, an old part of her—from when she’d lived in the city—rebelled against the idea. Accepting she was his slave was a different thing from being his slave. Somehow the former was worse than the latter.

Calling him Sir had been difficult at first, but it was no different than a waitress or somebody working customer service. It hadn’t been too demeaning to force herself to say, even though it had been hard to get used to.

Luke stood and unbuckled his belt. The leather zipped through the loops so loudly it pulled Veronica out of her hesitation.

They were only words.

“Y-yes, M-master.” She’d rather say the demeaning thing than have him throw her down on the ground and beat her in front of the ranch hands.

Luke nodded and sat back down. He folded the belt and put it on the table, as if he wanted to have it ready should he need to call it into action.

* * *

Several days passed,and Veronica was finally overcome by curiosity to taste her own milk. Luke caught her and whipped her for it, then lectured her for a good half hour about the evils of drinking or even tasting what belonged to him and his men. Despite the humiliation, she’d become aroused by his irrational demands.

As the weeks passed and her milk began to flow better, Luke changed her wardrobe. One Sunday, when the guys were off, he put her in jeans and a cupless corset to better support her heavy breasts. He circled her in the playroom, sizing her up.

“Since you’re our cow, I can’t have you covering those lovely tits up. We want to see them all the time. And we want easy access to your milk.”

In some way, it was a relief. Without fabric to cover them, they wouldn’t chafe. It had begun to be uncomfortable with milk-dampened fabric covering her breasts. Luke had begun to rub some of her milk into her nipples after each feeding—it helped some, but as long as she stayed inside where it was warm, freeing her breasts to the air would help more.

Veronica sucked in a breath as he cupped her breasts in his hands, no doubt feeling the heavy weight, knowing how engorged they were. She was desperate to have him drink from her. Titles were nothing now. She’d do or say anything to get him to release the pressure. Now that her body had finally responded to his training and the hormones, Luke wouldn’t allow her to squeeze any of the milk out herself. It had to be one of the guys or he’d punish her. After she’d tried to taste her milk, he’d installed cameras around the house so he’d catch her if she disobeyed.

Even after the cameras, she’d disobeyed once. She’d been too desperate to ease the ache. Her body had gotten used to a feeding schedule, and the men had worked later that evening than usual. Luke had easily convinced her that heavy pressure in her breasts was preferable to the searing pain of the cane.

“Please, Master...” Veronica rubbed her breasts against him.

“So eager to give milk,” he said, swiping his tongue over one nipple, causing a drop of milk to drip from the other as if it were jealous. “I like that. Between the brand and this, you’re hardly recognizable from when I first took you.”

She moaned and arched toward him, too distracted from the physical discomfort to contemplate his words. “Please, please please. It hurts, please.” Tears slid down her face.

“Not just yet.” He wiped her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “You’ve been such a good girl the past few weeks. So compliant and docile. I’m so pleased with you. Do you know how happy you make me, princess?”

He’d let her sleep in his room every night since she’d started giving milk. What he was doing should have upset her more, but it made her feel intimately connected to him, more dependent on him, more addicted to the myriad forms of release he could now offer her.

Release from the busy, loud city and the cramped feeling the place had always engendered. Release from her debt. Release from her fear of starving to death. And the physical releases he offered her when he fucked and fed from her.

She jumped when the door opened and Will walked in, followed by an attractive, slim redhead in her early forties. The woman was dressed smartly in a black suit. She crossed the floor and sat on the couch, crossing her long, elegant legs.

“Good, you’re here,” Luke said. “Ronnie, this is Frieda.”

Veronica’s mouth dropped open. Will’s wife. Here. She looked away from the woman, afraid she might see the guilt. Not that it had been Veronica’s fault. Still, the wife of Luke’s ranch hand might not see it that way.

Veronica tried to cover her exposed breasts, but Luke pulled her arms down to her sides and shook his head.

“Can I get you some coffee?” he asked the other woman.

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.”

Luke crossed the playroom to pour her a cup. “Do you take it black?”

Freida gave Veronica a long, measured look, her eyes flicking to her breasts in a way that made Veronica blush. “You know I take milk.”

He smirked. Luke came back to Veronica and squeezed her nipple over the cup of coffee. She couldn’t help the sigh of relief that came with the slight ease of pressure. He passed the cup to the woman, and without turning around, he said, “Veronica, take off your pants.”

Veronica froze for a second, still trying to catch her brain up to the fact that Will’s wife was here and didn’t seem freaked out by any of this.

“Ronnie, do you want to be punished in front of company?”

“N-no, Master.” She looked at the rug, her face flaming at having to call him that in front of a stranger, but she was too afraid to leave the title off. She eased the jeans down over her hips and stepped out of them.

She was caught by surprise when Will came up behind her, his hands moving around to her breasts, massaging them but not doing enough to make the milk flow. Even though his hand hadn’t strayed between her legs, the arousal was high enough that a little liquid dribbled out of her breasts.

Veronica gasped when Will pushed her to her hands and knees and took her panties down. Freida’s expression remained stoic as she drank her coffee and studied Veronica.

She still couldn’t believe Will’s wife wasn’t angry. For months when Will had taken her or drunk from her, she’d thought of his wife and what she would feel if she knew what he was doing with another, probably younger woman. From the looks of things, Freida had known the whole time.

Luke and Freida talked on the couch while Will fucked her.

“How long are you going to make her give milk?” Freida asked.

“As long as I can. A few years for sure, but probably until her body won’t let her do it anymore.”

Veronica felt a surge of lust at his words. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might use her for milk for so long. The idea should have disturbed or repulsed her. Instead, it, combined with Will inside her, had her climbing frantically to orgasm.

Luke may have felt that the branding would make her truly feel she was his and accept it, but the branding had only been the first step. It was being fed from that had pushed her over the edge where the only thing that mattered anymore was having the relief that only Luke or one of his ranch hand’s mouths could give her.

“The poor dear,” Freida said. “But then, she won’t be as uncomfortable here. I had to work outside the home during all that. It was finally too much to deal with. I imagine her life is different.”

“Quite,” Luke said.

Veronica came, panting and moaning, unable to be quiet even with the man’s wife sitting right there. When Will pulled out of her, she dropped to her stomach on the rug and just lay there, breathing, as Luke and Freida’s conversation faded into a low hum of white noise.

Several moments later, shiny black boots were next to her face. Sometimes Luke wore them with black pants in the playroom. They were the same boots from the videos. He never wore them out of the house. Out of the house it was always his standard cowboy boots and jeans.

“Are you spent, sweetheart? Because if this is all too much for you, we can just let you go take a nap,” he said.

“No, Master, please.”

He knew what she needed, he was only tormenting her. If she went to sleep now, it might be another full day before someone sucked the milk out of her. She wasn’t sure she could sleep through the pain. She had to have relief now. She’d do anything if it would end in being milked. She didn’t even need a mouth. If he’d just put her on the machine she’d be happy. She didn’t care if Freida watched. Let her watch. The other woman had been Will’s cow. This wasn’t new territory in her world.

“I don’t know, I think maybe you should go on to bed,” Luke said, his tone amused.

She scooted her body closer to him and kissed his boots. “Please, Master,” she whimpered. “I need to be milked. Please. You know I can’t sleep like this.”

“Lick, and I’ll think about it.”

He was showboating for the other woman on the couch, which made Veronica wonder if Luke had been with her. Well, weren’t they all a bunch of deviant swingers? But she didn’t care; the only thing that mattered was getting what she needed. She ran her tongue over the boot and up the side.

Luke chuckled. “When I met you that day at the diner and you were so rude to me for simply holding a door open for you, who would have thought you’d be a little bootlicking slut by the time I was finished with you?”

The question was rhetorical, of course. But instead of creating rage, it made her more aroused. How could she be so hot from being treated this way?

“Master, please. Just put me on the machine... anything.”

“I bet you’d like for Freida and Will to watch you get fucked and milked on that machine, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Master.” She wasn’t sure anymore if she was lying, or if she’d merely been given permission to start telling the truth.

“No, I think you’ve been a good enough slut to get the real thing. Crawl over to Freida and ask her to drink from you.”

Veronica’s face flamed, but she did what she was told and crawled over to the woman still perched elegantly on the couch with her cup of coffee cooling.

“And, Veronica?”

She turned. “Yes, Master?”

“You will address her as Ma’am.”

“Can I give you some milk, Ma’am?” Veronica asked, knowing the desperation must be coming out in her voice.

Freida laughed. “She’s a slutty little milk cow, isn’t she?”

“She is,” Luke agreed.

Veronica caught Luke’s eyes, and for a moment she thought perhaps he saw her for her. Was she still Trish when he looked at her, or had this new direction in their relationship taken them somewhere where he could see her and want her even if it was all wrong and fucked up?

“Come here, dear, let me ease some of that awful pressure,” the woman said.

Freida’s mouth descended on Veronica’s breast, and she let out a whimper of pleasure as the woman began to suckle. A moment later, her husband had joined her, his mouth closing around Veronica’s other nipple and pulling the milk from her so hard it almost made her dizzy with relief.

Then another mouth was on her—Luke’s—between her legs, sucking on her clit. So many mouths on her sucking, hands caressing. Moans of pleasure from her and from the two people at her breasts filled the room.

When the couple had taken all they wanted, they passed her back to Luke.

“She tastes wonderful. What are you feeding her?”

“Mostly what we grow or kill. I don’t let her have a lot of junk. And we keep her mostly away from onions and garlic.”

“You can tell,” Freida said.

When Luke finished drinking, he picked Veronica up and carried her over to the machine. “You’ve been so good today, let’s make sure we drain all the milk out so you can sleep more comfortably.”

On the one hand, he was rewarding her. On the other, he also wanted to display and humiliate her some more, and her body had forgotten how to be outraged about it. She didn’t resist when he strapped her into the machine. He only had to apply lube to the anal toy. Her pussy was so wet it wasn’t necessary for the other toy. He inserted the vibrating rods inside her and turned the machine on.

After that, she forgot about her audience. The sensation of being completely drained of milk while her cunt and ass were being filled was all-consuming. By the time Luke turned the machine off, she’d had another three orgasms. Sleep would be great tonight.

She was only vaguely aware of Will and Freida as they stood to leave. Long, feminine nails skimmed lightly down her back and over her ass.

Freida bent to whisper in her ear. “You were very good, dear. I haven’t seen Luke this happy in a long time. You’re good for him.” Then they left.

She wondered if the other woman thought Veronica had come here freely. She doubted Freida knew the true circumstances of her presence at the ranch. Did it matter anymore?

That night, Veronica slept peacefully in Luke’s arms.