I wouldn’t get her pregnant with the IUD I planted in her, but she could serve as a breeding cow while being milked.
Not in the biological sense.
No, this was psychological.
Ritualised.
Performance-based.
A milking routine with verbal reinforcement. She’d respond better when her role was spoken aloud. When I told her what she was.
My breeding cow.
My dairy girl.
My soft, milk-swollen little heifer.
It wasn’t arousal—not entirely. It was completion. Seeing the function work.
A machine operates perfectly when each part is installed with care.
She moaned softly as I massaged the last of the milk from her aching tits. Not a protest.
A reaction.
Progress.
My cock pulsed again, but I made no move. I would not fuck her today.
Today was for trust.
Touch.
Establishing a routine.
Tomorrow, perhaps, I would test how she tasted when frightened and full.
For now, she was dry.
Empty.
Compliant.
Good girl.
Chapter 7
Lena
The pain had been gradually growing over the last three days. It got to the point that I had to force myself to speak to the deluded doctor. He had been sucking on my breasts multiple times a day. If I didn’t switch off from him completely, I found that along with the ache he took away, I started to enjoy what he did.
He might be deluded, but I was fucked up.
He took my arms. My legs. Drilled into my head.
Left me to piss and shit in bags.
Peeled strips of my skin off to complete the grafts.
