Big Sky (18 page)

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 morning there 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.