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DIVERSION—PART 3
“Okay, you’ve got those figures for me Ben?” Frank Vanderbilt asked.
Ben handed the papers across the desk and then sat down in one of the chairs and waited while his boss looked over the numbers.
Frank sighed. “Well, their production keeps going up, but they’re still not even close to doing half a gallon a day, hardly doing five ounces per teat five times a day. Disappointing numbers for a young belle, of course, but pretty impressive for women. I think,” he added. “Can’t remember the last time I was around a female that was milking that wasn’t a cow. Anyway, I hope Snyder sees it that way. I don’t really know why I care, except that we’re still storing the stuff in the deep freeze. Two weeks worth already, thirty-one gallons. Drop in the bucket really, but I hate that we can’t sell it.”
“You don’t need me to tell you you could just toss it, boss, “ Ben said. “I looked at our contract with the FDOC, we can do whatever we want with the milk we collect.”
“I know, but I hate to throw out milk, not when I could sell it.”
“Can’t sell it retail or commercially,” Ben reminded him. “Doesn’t leave much else.”
“I know, I know, because they’re not homo lactilus. And because of the hormones on top of the LactoMax we’re feeding ‘em the milk’s even more loaded with hormones that usual. I—“ Frank stopped, then grabbed his Rolodex.
“You get an idea?” Ben asked him.
“I just might have,” Vanderbilt said. “I just might.”
Ben stood. “Well, unless you need me any more, I’ve got to get back to work.” He paused. “How much trouble have they been giving you?”
Frank looked up. “Surprisingly little. First couple of days were rough, first week, but after the LactoMax hormones hit on top of the other ones they’re taking, and the cows started showing how friendly they can be, I think our guests sort of decided to get with the program, you know?” He smiled.
Ben laughed. “I bet.” He headed for the door, then stopped and turned. “Hey Frank? I know these women are on extra hormones and all, but the LactoMax isn’t exactly corn flakes. Anyone know what would happen to a normal woman if she was fed a steady diet of LactoMax, no extra hormones like these women but just cow feed? It’s unregulated, you can buy it off the shelf at any feed store or over the internet. It says on the label it’s not recommended for any use other than cows, but you know people.”
Frank looked at his accountant. He was young, fresh out of school, and had only been with them for eight months, but seemed like a good kid.
“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, ‘Give ‘em grits
for breakfast and you’ll be happy all day?’ No?
You are a city boy,” he said with a smile. “The kibble tastes like dirt, and the effects
of the hormones are cumulative and take a while to set in, but never doubt
people’s interest in the unusual, especially when it comes to sex. You should see the mail order sales figures
of LactoMax to
“Really?” Ben looked surprised. This was his first real job, and he hadn’t wanted to mess it up, so he’d practically stayed glued to his computer screen. Apparently he’d missed a lot of the day-to-day workings of the farm. He’d only actually been in the barn, Adam House specifically, twice, and forced himself not to stare at the cows on the pumps, because he didn’t want to get in trouble. “I didn’t know you could do that. Well, I knew we sold them, I’ve seen the figures, but I didn’t know people could buy them, that we could buy them, private citizens.”
Ben knew that the going rate for a Verheiden retiring after the government-mandated minimum 20 years of production had dropped 30% in the past years, and likely would drop more. Dairy farmers, instead of keeping the Verheidens as long as they stayed healthy and kept their volume up, were now dumping them as soon as their twenty was up and replacing them with Thompson/Greens. The market had been flooded with Verheidens for the past year. Who exactly had been buying the retired belles, and why, Ben wasn’t too clear on, but Frank’s information about cow feed sales to big cities gave him a big clue.
Frank smiled at him. “Stop working so hard, and take a day off. Take a walk around the place. Talk to the guys, look at some cows. Free milk in the lunchroom isn’t the only perk of this job. Just remember what company policy is on fraternization.”
Free milk? Ben thought. He’d been eating lunch at his desk every day. What else around this place had he missed?
“And I’m telling you, I breast-fed two children for a total of fourteen months, and this is not normal.” Kelly sighed, almost invisible in the darkness.
“Of course it’s not normal,” Angie told her. “They’ve got us pumped full of hormones so we produce gallons of the stuff, like the cows.”
The six program volunteers had paired off on their own, Angie finding she got along with the young mother of two as well as any of the others. She’d never had a roommate before, but then she was doing a lot of things she’d never done before. They lay in their cubicle, not long after lights out, both staring up at the ceiling barely visible overhead. The faint, low muted sounds of two hundred cows settling down for the night filled their ears.
“Not that, I know they want us making a lot of milk, although this is insane. I could feed five babies with what I’m producing. It’s the other stuff. Like I said, I breast-fed two babies, had two little mouths sucking on my nipples for months, and never once felt anything remotely sexual. Here—no, wait, even before we got here, when I started taking the pills in jail, it got me horny, almost before my breasts started growing, definitely before my milk came in. And then, since the second day we arrived here . . . .” Angie heard her draw in a shuddering breath.
“I know,” Angie said sympathetically. “We’re all feeling the same thing. I don’t know if it’s because of the drugs, or just partly, but does it matter? Do you want to go to jail? I know I don’t.”
Kelly took a deep breath. “No, but when I volunteered to be treated like a cow, I . . . well, this isn’t what I thought it would be. I thought I would start lactating again, sure, and I knew the cows didn’t wear clothes, but I thought so what? They’re all women, it’s no big deal. I guess I thought it would be like living in a big locker room, with breast pumps. Maybe that just shows how stupid I was.”
“You’re not stupid,” Angie told her.
“Maybe,” Kelly agreed. “But this isn’t just about being naked and lactating, either, is it?”
Angie took a deep breath. “No. The way I’m acting in here, that’s not me, that’s not how I was before I came here, but I can’t seem to help it, and I know that’s not my fault, because I see what’s happening to everybody else. Laura was the first to . . . go with the cows, but now . . . .” She sighed. “If it was just me, I don’t know how I would handle it, but it’s not, and to tell you the truth, I’m to the point now where I don’t care what other people might think. I’ve seen my options, and I’m not going to prison. Are things really that bad in here that you’d rather go to jail?”
Nearby, very close, they could hear the sounds of sex; muffled, indistinct moans, panting, and wet sounds. Angie had observed her fellow program volunteers enough, seen how the hormones had been affecting them, to suspect it wasn’t cows she was hearing tonight.
“No,” Kelly said. “I just can’t imagine, though, that this is a mistake. There ought to be a way to induce lactation without it affecting your sex drive, I don’t care if it is a lot of milk. I knew mothers who were naturally producing nearly as much as I am now, their breasts were like faucets, and their sex drives didn’t go all haywire.”
“Maybe,” Angie said after a while. “Maybe they did it this way on purpose. Maybe not. But we’ve only got two choices. Is this worse than the alternative?”
Spooned together tightly on Angie’s bunk, Angie’s arms wrapped around Kelly’s waist, she could feel the other woman’s heartbeat against her sensitive breasts. They’d both gotten pumped out just before lights out, but Angie wasn’t sure she could make it until morning without visiting the pumps again. Her milk was coming in more and more every day she was inside the barn. Kelly sighed, and shifted her body, and stroked a hand along Angie’s smooth thigh where it pressed against her flank. God her skin was soft.
“No,” Kelly said. “And it’s not that I don’t like you, or what we do together. It feels amazing. More than amazing. And I need it. I—I want it. I just want you to know . . . I’m not gay. What we do together, what I’ve done with the cows . . . it feels good, I’m not going to lie to you, but I’m not a lesbian, I’m really not. I know that sounds crazy, after everything we’ve done, but it’s true. I hope you’re not upset,” she said after a few moments of silence.
Angie gave a sad chuckle. She sighed, thought about it for a minute, then said, “I’m not gay either. I don’t know what’s worse, that I’m acting like this even though I’m not a lesbian, or that I like fucking you and getting fucked by you so much you never had a clue that I wasn’t gay.” She gave a little sobbing laugh.
“Oh, honey,” Kelly said, and turned in the bunk toward the younger woman, who was barely more than a silhouette in the dark. They hugged, and then kissed, and inside the space of three breaths both their mouths had opened and their tongues were writhing against each other, breath harsh in their ears. Kelly rolled on top of her, and Angie’s thighs opened of their own accord. Kelly began to pull her mouth away, to move it down Angie’s body, but Angie made protesting sounds and briefly broke the kiss.
“No, use your fingers, and keep kissing me,” she gasped into Kelly’s mouth, even as her fingers found their way into Kelly’s slick folds. A tongue wasn’t going to do it tonight, no way.
“
“Yeah, Jack, is that you? It’s Frank Vanderbilt, Vanderbilt Farms.”
“Why hello, Frank, how are you? Haven’t talked to you since the trade show in February.”
“Yeah, that’s sort of why I called. You got a minute?”
“Sure.”
“At the show you were talking about selling a cow or two to some frat boys. How’d that go again?”
“I’ve sold six, I think, in the last four years or so. Wasn’t so sure on the first one, you know, I was worried they might not take proper care of her, but I visited her about eight months later and she was happier than when she was in the barn. I think she finally found enough wood to keep her happy with all those young fellas around. That same frat bought another cow off me last year, and the boys said that first belle was still livin’ at the house, goin’ gangbusters, sort of a legend in her own time. I guess other colleges heard about her. I’ve had more frats calling me than I’ve got cows retiring, and had to refer ‘em to the wholesalers like you sell yours to. They tell me I started a new fad, all the frats want cows now. Bunch of city boys discovering what we knew a hundred years ago, but there you go.”
“You said they wanted the milk as much as the cows?” Frank asked him.
“Yeah. Well, you know how many hormones are in unpasteurized fresh milk, and what it’ll do to a girl if you give her enough of it, and the younger the girl, the more it’ll do, and quicker.”
“Don’t I know it,” Frank muttered.
“Ooh,” he heard Jack. “Sorry, I forgot about that, didn’t mean to . . . .”
“Not your fault,” Frank assured him. “Not anyone’s, really.”
“Right,” Jack said. “Well, I happened to mention that to the boys, and apparently they tried it out, and found out I was telling the truth. They wanted that second belle as much for the milk as anything, not like the first one, but I guess there’s a lot of girls on campus who will drink the stuff. Not sure why, but I never understood women, and it’s too late to start tryin’, I guess. Word’s got out now, about the fresh milk, and I’ve had no end of people calling me, seeing if they can buy some. I hate to tell ‘em no, but you know the law.”
“All milk from licensed, registered cows must be Pasteurized before being sold commercially, and the only milk that can be sold commercially, retail or wholesale, must come from licensed, registered cows.”
“Only exception I know to that is the government itself,” Jack said. “A lot of these folks don’t have the cash for a cow, or the facilities, they just want the milk.”
“I have heard about a blackmarket for baby belles,” Frank said, “but I think that’s more of a big city thing. Born to emancipated or retired stock and sold off, raised in private homes and used for whatever. They’re not registered or regulated, so you couldn’t legally sell their milk, but I hear there’s a big underground market for it. Big. Now that they’re officially a different species, there’s no hard or fast rules for raisin’ ‘em. Doesn’t affect us much, I don’t think, as we’re in the beverage market and I think they’re all about the hormones, but it does get some people in a twist. One of my slappers, he brought in a porno he ran across a couple of months ago, had to show me. If those girls in it weren’t on a heavy freshmilk diet I’ll eat my hat, and he said there’s a lot of ‘em looking like that popping up in porn lately. Not just porn, either, it’s happening everywhere. Not surprised, there’s been emancipated belles in porn for years.”
“Don’t doubt it’s the same people who dress up their women in those rubber and leather outfits that are buying the milk,” Jack said. “I just don’t understand city folk, that’s the problem. What’s the point of putting clothes on a belle?”
“Same as on a regular women, like putting wrapping paper on a present. What’s the government exception on fresh milk?” Frank asked him.
“The Academy girls are raised on fresh milk,” Jack explained. “Between that and the breeding and the training it’s a wonder they can keep their pants on at all. Not that they do, from what I hear, but you know what I’m sayin’.”
“I didn’t know that,” Frank said. “Listen, did you hear about the little government program I got shanghaied into participating in?”
“No, what’s this?” Jack wondered if it was something he’d be burdened with next. Frank explained the dairy diversion pilot program briefly to Jack.
“I don’t really see much sense in it,” Jack said finally. “If you can’t sell the milk, where’s the community service? I think we’d all be better off if they were out digging ditches, picking up trash along the highways or learning an actual job skill. I got grass that needs cuttin’.”
Frank laughed. “That’s what I thought, but we didn’t really have any choice in the matter. These women, they’re not even pumping out but three gallons a day total, but I can’t sell it. Between the drugs they have to take and the LactoMax there’s even more hormones than usual in the milk. I had it tested, and I think a couple of glasses of it would give me teats. But then I thought of you and your frat boys. I know I’ve got a bigger operation, but you’re the one who’s got the contacts with these college kids. I sell off my retiring belles to wholesalers who take ‘em to public auction. Don’t know who they sell ‘em to. Probably that leather and rubber crowd you were talking about. You know anybody who might be interested in about 350 gallons when all is said and done of fresh milk with more than the normal amount of hormones? I may not end up being able to sell it, but I’ll give it away before I throw it away. I’ll get you a finder’s fee.”
“Now don’t insult me by offering me money,” Jack said without rancor. “Three hundred and fifty, huh? How much do you have on hand now?”
“A little under forty, deep frozen. Like I said, they’re pumping out about two and a half gallons a day. Volume’s still inching up, but not enough to make much difference, between now and when they’re kicked out.”
“Okay. Let me think on it a bit, make a few calls, maybe I can get you in touch with someone. The problem ain’t finding people interested, it’s finding someone who can store that much frozen so it doesn’t go bad before it gets used up. How much you looking to make, if you can figure a way to sell it?”
“Anything close to the going rate would be fine. I’m not looking to make much of anything on this, I just hate the thought of throwing away milk when I don’t have to.”
“You and me both. Well, give me a day or two and I’ll call you back.”
“I’d appreciate that, Jack.”
“Hey Frank,” Jack said quickly. “I know you’ve got to have some Thompson/Greens by now. Hell, you probably bought some before I did.”
“Sure. Wasn’t too sure about them at first, thought they might be finicky, like the Stolzkirk’s turned out to be, but now every belle I retire I replace with a T/G.”
“Yeah? How long have you had them?”
“I don’t know. Got the first ones about . . . eighteen months ago.”
“Did you notice any increase in their production after you’d had them a year or so?”
Frank laughed. “You bet your ass I did. I’m still having trouble believing the numbers when I see them. Over forty ounces a teat three times a day and their production keeps inching up. Don’t know how their skinny backs can take the weight. They can’t hardly walk when they’re full. Hope they age well, but I guess they’ve got all day to lay down if their backs are hurtin’ ‘em.”
Jack sounded relieved. “Well, I was wondering if it was just mine, maybe something I’ve got in the water over here. I’ve got one T/G belle, can’t weigh more than eighty pounds empty, she’s averaging forty-eight ounces a teat every seven and a half hours. If I sat down and did nothing but drink beer I don’t think I could make that much water. Who’d a thunk it?”
“Well, your kidneys and bladder and who knows what
else haven’t been worked on by the finest minds in science,” Frank told
him. “The wonders of
modern genetics. God Bless
Panting harshly, Angie reached down between her legs and pulled the cow’s hand out of her dripping folds. They never seemed to know when to stop, and if she came one more time she’d pass out. The pretty cow, one of the tiny ones who sported a freshly shaved head, had hands small enough to fit in places Angie never thought a hand would fit, but she was oh so glad she’d been wrong. The cow knelt on all fours, staring at Angie as she scooted away, blinking slowly, then the big Verheiden behind her bumped her hip. The small cow turned, found the busy threesome didn’t mind a fourth, and put her small hands to work. Angie had to pry her eyes away—she was overdue for milking, had put it off and put it off because she was having so much fun, and now her teats sat like over-inflated balloons on her chest.
They’d grown larger since she’d come to the dairy, however many weeks ago that way, but she’d grown accustomed to the sight and feel of them. The stretchmarks had begun to fade somewhat, although her nipples had swollen and darkened from the regular use of the strong pump nozzles. They still weren’t much larger than the last joint of her middle finger, though, nothing like the thumb-sized nipples of the cows she lived with.
Angie scooted back farther on the padded floor, seeing she’d left a puddle, and watched the cow she’d been playing with start uncontrollably humping another cow’s thigh. Angie knew the feeling. She’d never had a lesbian experience before coming to the dairy, and she still wasn’t even sure this counted. The hormones they had her on made her so horny she literally couldn’t think straight. The few male employees she saw around the barn refused to even touch her. She’d have fucked a chair leg if there hadn’t been any cows. If she could find a chair. It was more a matter of keeping her sanity than choosing an alternate lifestyle. She’d been reluctant at first, but the cows were so open about it, and it went on everywhere, all the time, that it was only a matter of time before all the program volunteers had surrendered to their hormone-induced urges.
Until she became intimate with cows Angie didn’t realize how they could be so different from her as to be a different species. Mentally they weren’t much quicker than dogs, and most of them barely spoke, but it was their unexpected physical strangeness that surprised her. Their teats, of course, were massive, and bulged with veins when full of milk, and shrunk and sagged flat and less than half their former size when empty. And their nipples—like thumbs made of leather. As for sex, it took rapidly thrusting fingers just to get their attention, and everything got wet.
It had taken Angie a while to realize that the big cows, the Verheidens, with their big, sense-dulled brains, didn’t much appreciate delicate or subtle techniques, and her hesitancy wasn’t doing anyone any good. And she’d never been able to get them to be gentler with her probing fingers, but after a few short weeks she found her body reacting differently. Her body became more responsive, and it was taking less and less time and effort for her to get off, not that it had ever taken her that long. She was practically becoming multi-orgasmic, and no longer reacted skittishly when a cow accidentally stuck a finger into the wrong hole. In fact, she had to admit to herself, she didn’t have a ‘wrong’ hole anymore.
She’d been aware of the other program volunteers adjusting to their new life, accepting the slow pace of dairy existence, and the main form of recreation the cows participated in. She and Kelly had turned to each other when their lust became too much to bear in those first few weeks, but as the strangeness of the dairy wore off they spent more and more of their playtime with the herd, until they were with each other only at lights out, on those nights they weren’t exhausted from spending hours in the play area. The other program volunteers had gradually been absorbed into the herd as well, although it had taken some of them more time than others to make the adjustment. Some had resisted much more fiercely than Angie had. Margaret had held out the longest of all. When they’d lasered off her hair she’d protested so much, not just about that but about the “culture of rampant, enforced homosexuality” in the dairy that she’d almost been thrown out of the program. One of the slappers had been about to make the phone call that would have sent her away for good when Margaret suddenly came to her senses, remembering just what her four weeks in jail had been like. When she’d finally become part of the herd, she’d gone all the way.
As Angie stood up on shaky legs, wincing as the weight of her swollen breasts pulled on her chest, she watched Margaret in the middle of the pile of cows on the padded floor. She was roughly corkscrewing her bony hand and wrist in the wet folds of a younger Verheiden, who was on hands and knees and humping her hips backward. Another Verheiden was on its back nearby, and had reached a hand out between Margaret’s legs. The teats of the cow Margaret was fisting hung past her elbows and swayed ponderously, the veins crisscrossing their surfaces as thick as fingers. The wet squelching sounds of Margaret’s fisting weren’t any louder than the noises the other cows around her were making.
“Yeah, fuck it, fuck it,” Margaret growled. Her breasts, small by dairy standards, barely more than D-cups even with all the hormones they’d been taking for weeks, were mashed against the cow’s fleshy buttock and thigh. Margaret turned and looked over her shoulder at the cow who was fingering her. “Give me another finger,” she told the cow, who was being licked enthusiastically by a T/G who was lying on its monstrous teats like they were built-in pillows. The cow around Margaret’s hand was mewling and squirted again, messing the already sloppy floor. Then the cow released its bladder, the stream splashing against Margaret’s lean thigh. Margaret ignored it, having learned the cows had sometimes tenuous control over certain bodily functions when excited.
Margaret noticed one of the dairy’s male employees out of the corner of her eye, a maintenance man with a tool belt around his waist walking by, comfortably out of reach of any of the cows in the play area.
“Bring that cock over here,” Margaret called out to him. Her corkscrewing hand never slowed. “You know you want to. Just pick a hole, any hole.” The man just shook his head and kept walking, a smile on his face.
“Goddammit,” Margaret said, without much feeling. Margaret was the only one among the program participants who still tried to entice the male employees to fuck her. The rest of the women had given it up as hopeless. Her hips twitched and bucked, and Margaret looked down at the thick Verheiden fingers twisting in her. “Christ, that feels good.”
Smelling of sex, Angie made her way to the row of automilkers. She smelled like sex most of the time, she realized, but what did it matter? So did everyone else. While most of the cows were infrequent bathers, none of them were dirty, and Angie didn’t hardly notice the smell anymore.
She found Mary on one of the pumps, eyes closed, her hips swaying gently as the nozzles sucked her teats dry. The other designated pump was occupied by one of the small cows.
The pump wasn’t working for the cow, and finally she climbed off the box. Angie was only five-four, and yet she towered over the Thompson/Green. The T/G had a body like a reed, but teats so huge they looked like balloons tied to a stick.
The belle looked like she wasn’t even old enough to have teats, much less ones that were nearly twice the size of Angie’s when engorged with milk, laced with blue veins that would in time bulge out obscenely. Angie knew from watching that well over half that teat volume was milk, as opposed to her own breasts, which were half the size but produced only a fraction of the milk of the genetically engineered cow.
The T/G moved down the row of milkers and Angie saw that she could see the cow’s teats sticking out to either side past her upper arms. The cow was so skinny it looked like you could put your hands around her waist and have your fingertips touch—how she didn’t have back problems Angie couldn’t say. The cow climbed onto the first unoccupied pump that she came to. Her grape-shaped teats were so large they barely fit into the openings in the top.
Angie climbed onto the pump the cow had vacated. She waited expectantly for the hum to start, the hiss as the nozzles activated and moved toward her nipples, the rhythmic vibration as the machine emptied her of milk. She found herself getting wet in anticipation, like one of those Pavlov dogs. She couldn’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to enter this program instead of going to jail, even though she knew she herself used to have reservations. Her only concern now was what would happen at the end of the six month program. But she found it hard to think too long about anything, and all thought entirely left her head as the nozzles sucked on.
Angie sighed, relaxed, and felt her milk let down, and even though she’d just been roughly finger-fucked to four orgasms and was still dripping wet, she could tell it was only going to take her a minute or two to come once again.
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