Diversion

                               DIVERSION—PART 4

 

 

“What, you got a girlfriend that ain’t puttin’ out enough?” Randy said with a laugh.  He leaned back in the chair and looked around the lunchroom.  He and Ben were alone except for Sally, who ignored them as she came in to eat her lunch.

“No, I was just wondering,” Ben said.  “I got to thinking about those women you’ve got in here with the cows, who are on hormones and LactoMax, and wondered what effect just LactoMax would have on them.  Mr. Vanderbilt said I should talk to one of you guys.”

Sally set a brown paper lunch bag on the table and with it a large, empty plastic cup.

Randy nodded and took a bite of his apple.  “Well, it’s an open secret what fresh milk will do to a woman, especially a young one,” he said, “if they drink enough of it.  I mean, you’ve heard about Jilly, right?”

“Jilly?  You mean Mr. Vanderbilt’s daughter?  What about her?”

Jill Vanderbilt spent most of her time out of town, talking to wholesalers and distributors, finding new customers, and generally ensuring Vanderbilt Farms had a steady stream of customers wanting to buy its product.  She was a tall, gorgeous young woman with a full head of long, auburn hair.  She had some of the largest breasts Ben had ever seen on someone who wasn’t hugely obese or a cow.

Randy smiled, leaned close, and lowered his voice.  “She was, I don’t know, eight or nine years old, a little squirrelly short runt of a girl, surrounded by all these cows with their huge teats.  Mr. Vanderbilt had, I think, three retired cows living at the house, and at least two of ‘em were still producing at quantity.  So Jilly, she heard the rumors about how drinking fresh milk will give you big teats, what every girl wants, so she starts drinking the milk herself.  Not all of it, but at least half a gallon a day if it was a drop, and let me tell you, even a pint a day of fresh milk would’ve have paid off big rewards, girl her age.  Mr. V, he doesn’t know, he’s at the office most days, he thinks the cows are drinking it themselves, he doesn’t find out until one day he realized his daughter’s got this massive rack and she’s not even eleven years old.  So he makes her stop, but the damage is done, she was drinking it every day for close to two years.  She got the teats she was looking for, all right, but no one had told her about the other effects.”

“Horny?” Ben asked.  He’d only met Jill Vanderbilt a couple of times, and she’d seemed very friendly, but he’d been too busy to remember much else.

Ben idly watched as Sally unzipped the front of her coveralls down to her waist.  She wore no clothes underneath, and Ben stared at her four big teats.  Each was enclosed by a tight latex sheath very similar in design and purpose to a condom.  One by one Ben watched as Sally carefully rolled and slid the milkbags off her teats and upended them over her big plastic cup.  Each one held an ounce or two of milk that had leaked out while she worked.  There were angry red circles around the base of her teats from the squeezing latex rings, and her teats looked sweaty from being clad in rubber for hours on end, but the retired belle didn’t notice such minor discomforts.  Once she’d emptied all four latex sheaths into her cup she laboriously squeezed each of her four breasts, expressing her milk into the big cup.

“Looks just like she’s jerking off, doesn’t it,” Randy said, watching as Sally squeezed each of her teats with both hands from base to nipple, over and over again.

“I was just thinking that,” Ben said.  He shifted a little in his seat to make his suddenly tight pants more comfortable.  For all the attention Sally paid to them she might have been alone in the room.

“Yeah, Jilly got horny all right,” Randy went on.  “As a cow, almost.  Caused a lot of problems, a girl her age, you know?  Let me tell you, Mr. V was none too happy, but it wasn’t like there was somebody to blame.  She did it to herself.”

“Unknowingly.”

“Yep, sort of.  I hear rumors that she’s running a string of studs on her property to help keep a damper on her fire, make some extra cash, but those are only rumors.  She behaves herself around here, daddy made that real clear to her.”

“As for LactoMax,” Randy said, “you can’t really eat it and not know what it is and what’s in it, and I’ve heard all sorts of stories about women eating it, for all sorts of different reasons.  I’ve heard how some will try a short-term LactoMax diet, to trim off some fat or get bigger teats, or both.  City women do all sorts of things I can’t make hide nor hair of, fashions and diets and behavior that just don’t make no sense.  As for what a steady diet of it would do to a normal female, I’m guessin’ it’s not that much different from fresh milk.  I’m sure somebody’s tried it—I know for a fact they have with fresh milk.  I wouldn’t be surprised the government’s done some studies or experiments somewhere.”

They both watched as Sally, done expressing milk, rolled new bags over her teats, zipped up her coveralls, and sat down to eat her sandwich and drink her milk.   Ben guessed she had over twenty ounces in the big cup.

Randy nodded at Sally.  “She ain’t even on LactoMax no more and look what she can still squeeze out.”  He tilted his head back and thought.  “I bet if you put a normal woman on LactoMax and then put her on the pumps you could get her producing, but just how much I couldn’t say, and really, what’s the point?  Got cows for milk.  Got cows for the other stuff, too, you get my meaning.  Got everything you need, different species or not, and I ain’t sure I even buy that stuff about the species being different.  I mean, I don’t know science, but if they’re a different species, we shouldn’t be able to get them pregnant, right?  Like dogs and cats?  But you can.”

“I don’t know,” Ben said honestly.

Randy shrugged.  “I’m gonna do what Bill McGink is.”

“I’ve heard the name,” Ben said, “but I don’t know him.”

“Earl took his job when he retired.  He’s bought Sally there,” Randy nodded at her, “and about half a dozen other retired belles so far.”  Randy leaned close and lowered his voice.  “Then he emancipated ‘em and put ‘em to work, here, Brown Bell.  Thing is,” and his voiced dropped even lower, “he didn’t tell them he emancipated them, and they’re too dumb to even think about asking.”

Ben’s eyes went wide.  “He didn’t tell them?”

“Well, he told them they were emancipated, but what the hell does a cow know about fancy words?  He coulda told them they were fried cheese, all they know.”  Randy shrugged, and his eyes darted to Sally.  “Don’t see as it makes much difference.  Word is they’re going to be getting rid of the whole emancipation process.  If they’re a different species, then they’re not people, and there’s no need to free ‘em.  Be like emancipating a cat.  Doubt half of ‘em could take care of themselves even with some sort of training program, so if someone has to take care of ‘em, be responsible for ‘em, what’s the point of emancipation, you get me?”

“Why’d Bill do it?  I mean, if they’re already bought and paid for?”

“Something to do with dependents or deductions or something like that, saves him thousands every year in taxes.  He’s got all of ‘em working, scrubbing floors or emptying trash, whatever, all on different shifts, so there’s at least one around to poke if he wants.  They do all the housework and he gets to pocket all that cash.  That’s what I’m gonna do when I get out of here, I’m saving up the money now for my first belle.  Once I put her to work, it won’t take long to get the cash to buy another, and another.  You’ve got to have a long term plan,” he told Ben.  “Retirement.  I don’t trust that stock market.”

“Right,” Ben said.

“Until then,” Randy went on, “Sally here’s spoken for, and Bobbi, but Tink and the rest of the E-mans have no problems spending their breaks or lunch on their hands and knees.  Or hanging around after work in the parking lot, if you know what I’m saying.  Just as natural to them as breathing, and they don’t play favorites.  Hell, most days it takes two or three of us to keep them happy, and I ain’t dumb enough not to help myself when I can.”

“Sure,” Ben said.

“They’re living in some sort of group home for E-mans near Riverdale, get picked up and dropped off by a bus.  Got to wonder what they’re doing with all the money they’re making, what I hear is they don’t wear no clothes at the home, and none of ‘em knows what makeup is.”

“Who runs the home?” Ben asked.

“Some retired Academy woman.  You should see her, sixty years old if she’s a day and still sex on wheels, I get twinges in my back just thinking about what she’d be like in bed.  She could teach those cows a thing or two.”

“They’re all walking around naked, maybe she is,” Ben said.  “Tink or the other emancipated belles been doing any new tricks in the parking lot after work?”

Randy’s eyes flew open wide.  “So that’s where she got that!”

Leaving the lunchroom, Ben realized he’d left a computer disk inside his car that he needed.  He headed towards the side entrance.  If he used the side door it would save him a couple of minutes, but he’d have to cut through Charlie house.  He’d still been avoiding the cows after all these months, afraid of doing something that would jeopardize his job—when he’d taken the job, he’d been paranoid about being around naked “women”, but none of the cows looked like normal women to him anymore.  The Verheidens were too big all over (honestly, he found them a bit scary and intimidating), and the Thompson/Greens were built like grapes stuck on Popsicle sticks.  He figured that as long as he kept moving he wouldn’t be able to get into trouble.  He was looking back over his shoulder at the cows’ busy play area when he ran into a belle, sending her bowl of food flying.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said automatically, looking at the food all over the concrete floor.

“It was my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” the cow said.

Ben’s head jerked up, and saw she wasn’t a cow at all, but rather one of the diversion program participants.  She was young, with blonde stubble on her head and two breasts that were small for a cow but were huge and at the same time amazingly high and firm for a woman.  She was looking at him with an interested expression, her mostly empty food bowl resting on one hip, and if she remembered she was naked she gave no sign.

Ben knelt down, avoiding her gaze, and began collecting the brown kibble.  The young woman squatted down next to him and set the bowl down, and the two of them began tossing the scattered food into the bowl.

“Thank you.  I haven’t seen you in here before,” she said, looking at Ben intently.

“I spend most of my time in the front office,” he said, keeping his eyes on his job.  He could just see her feet out of the corner of his eye.  “I was just cutting through.”

“What do you do?”

Ben was having one hell of a time not staring at her as she squatted next to him, totally unconcerned with her body.  It shouldn’t have surprised him, he supposed—she’d been living naked with the cows for over two months already, and there was no such thing as privacy living in a barn

“I’m an accountant,” he told her.

“You look young to be an accountant,” she said.

Ben blushed, and risked a quick glance at her.  She was smiling.  “I’m twenty-three,” he told her.

“I’m Angie,” she said.  “But you probably already know that, if you do the records.”

Ben stopped, tilted his head, and looked at her face.  “I’m Ben,” he said absently, studying her.  “Do I know you?” he asked.  Her face looked familiar, but the stubble on her head and the trying not to look at her body threw him off.

She looked at him, not sure if he was serious or playing a game.  “I don’t think so.”

“You look familiar,” he told her.  “What high school did you go to?”

“Pearl,” she said.  “Class of ’01.”

“Class of ’99,” he told her.  “I must have seen you there.  I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me, I spent the whole time with my face buried in books.”

Angie smiled a little sadly.  “I guess I probably should be embarrassed,” she said, gesturing at herself, “that someone recognized me here.”  She stayed where she was, in her spread-leg squat.

Angie remembered a life before the dairy, wearing clothes, being shy and embarrassed about everything, boys, her body, the awkward fumbling in cars, but it seemed like a half-forgotten movie.  Right now she was hungry, and it was time to eat.  When she was done eating, she’d find a cow or three that wanted to play, and tame the fire between her legs for a while.  After that, she’d need to be pumped out, and then it would be time to eat again.  It seemed like that had been her life forever, and she didn’t really mind it.  She liked it, actually, although she got a little bored sometimes, and wished she had someone to talk to.  This guy, Ben, he was something new in her routine.  He was handsome, and smelled good, and obviously he was interested.  If only . . . .

“What’d you do?” he asked her.

“You don’t know?” she asked him.  He shook his head.

She made a face.  “Shoplifting,” she told him.  “And not the first time.  I was such an idiot.  I can’t even remember why I did it.”

“And how are you . . ?”  He gestured in the general direction of her body, then around the dairy.  He’d almost been too afraid to ask the question, but she seemed so open.

“I’m barely controlling myself from jumping on you,” she said honestly.  “Every four hours turn on the faucet and I’m a milk fountain.  Three times a day I eat.  The rest of the time I’m like a bitch in heat, and all I can think about right now is the cock in your pants and what it would feel like inside me.”  Her voice came out in a near growl.  Angie shocked herself with her language, but none of it was untrue, and as she stared at him she didn’t regret a word of it.  If he ran away, so be it, she wasn’t going to fake it, not in here.  She stared at him intensely, daring him with her eyes.  “You ever see a dog hump a leg?” she asked him.  “They’re that horny, they need to hump something, anything?  I’ve got it that bad.  We all do.”  She stared at the crotch of his pants, wondering what he looked like.

He cleared his throat and looked away.  “Well, um, I guess I better go, then,” he said nervously, then looked back up into her eyes.  He swallowed nervously, but didn’t move.  He suddenly realized just how strong she smelled—not bad body odor per se, she just smelled like all natural girl, and pussy.  Lots of pussy, with a milk undertone.

“Yeah,” she said.  Ben kept his eyes locked on hers.  There was hunger in them, and loneliness.  Neither of them made a move to get up.  Finally she told him, “You’d better go.  I know you’re not allowed to touch us, and I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

She grabbed the refilled bowl and forced herself to stand.  She could feel the wetness between her legs, and wanted to touch herself, but instead just looked down at him.  Ben took a deep breath, then stood.  They stared into each other’s eyes.

“I miss having someone to talk to,” she told him.  “No TV, no radio, nothing to read, sometimes it gets a little boring.  If you want to, come by some time when I’m on the pump, then you won’t have to worry about me grabbing you.  I won’t have to worry about me grabbing you, as long as you don’t stand too close.  I try to keep to a schedule, every four hours starting about eight in the morning.  It takes me about fifteen minutes to get pumped out.”

“Okay,” Ben said, his voice cracking.  Then she turned and he watched her go.  He finally remembered to breathe.

 

 

“Exactly how much milk are the program participants producing?” Ned Pickering asked Frank Vanderbilt, standing in his office.

“That’s what you wanted a meeting for?” Vanderbilt said.  “You could have called on the phone.”

“I needed to check on the women anyway,” Pickering told him.  “They’re due for their monthly appraisal, and Snyder’s out with a bad cold.  I presume you’re keeping track, or your pumps do.”

“Sure,” Frank told him.  “Between the six of them they’re producing about three gallons a day, almost sixty ounces apiece.”

Pickering looked surprised.  “Really.  That seems quite a lot.  My superiors will be pleased.”

Frank shook his head.  “They’ve made huge strides on the genetic side of things in the last decade or so.  Occasionally they make missteps, but . . . .”

The government man didn’t like to hear that his employer wasn’t perfect.  “Missteps how?”

Frank shrugged.  “They were doing some hormone experiments quite some time ago, in utero, and I guess they did them too early in the pregnancy or something.  I’m not sure, but what they got was a whole mess of Verheidens that had unremarkable production but remarkable attributes.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, instead of their teats, another part of their anatomy grew big, the kind that you could definitely tell if that cow was happy to see you.”

“What?”  Pickering frowned, then got Vanderbilt’s meaning.  “Oh!  Really?”

Frank nodded.  “Slappers call ‘em Verhangers.  I didn’t get any of that batch myself, but I hear they’re very popular with the other cows.  Going to be getting close to retirement age pretty soon.  But anyway, in regards to milk production, I’ve got some Thompson/Greens that look like they’re going to be producing five gallons a day apiece by the time they’re done maturing,” Frank told him.  “They’re already doing forty ounces per teat three times a day—that’s thirty pounds of milk.  You cut their teats off and none of the T/Gs would break a hundred pounds.  That means they’re producing their own weight in milk every three days.  There’s no way your volunteers could compete with that.  Why does the government care?  I thought the FDA, FDOC, whoever, didn’t care about their milk, that it was only a side-effect of the lesson they were being taught, or something.”

Pickering chose not to answer the question, instead asking, “What are you doing with their milk?  Are you throwing it away?”

“Well,” Vanderbilt said, knowing it was legally none of the government representative’s business, but no wishing to irritate the man, “actually, I’m donating it and using it as a tax write-off, since I can’t sell it.”

“Really?” Pickering seemed intrigued.  “Donating it to who?”

“The local junior college.  They buy all the milk in their cafeterias from us anyway, so we’ve got a relationship.  Their cooking students are going to use the fresh milk to make ice cream, butter, cheese, that kind of thing.  I don’t have that many options since it can’t be sold to consumers.”

Pickering nodded, took out a small spiral notebook, and jotted down a few sentences.

“Is there a problem?” Vanderbilt asked him, keeping the nervousness out of his voice.  Pickering waved a hand.

“Oh no,” the government rep said.  “It’s just that the program administrators are a lot like you—they hate to be wasting something they could be making money on.  Admittedly, the pilot program volunteers don’t produce nearly as much as actual cows, but there are two hundred women in the pilot program in this state alone, which is sure to expand, and other stated are thinking of establishing similar programs.”

“I’d hate to think I’ve been helping the government figure out a way to compete with me,” Frank said, not sure where Pickering was going with this.

“No, no,” Pickering said absently.  ‘You’re right, unless the laws change, and that’s not likely to happen, not with so many dairy-belt senators up for re-election, you can’t sell non-certified, non-pasteurized milk commercially in this country, homo lactilus-derived or otherwise.

“But here’s the rub:  now that the pilot program’s actually been established, and it’s very likely to become a standard part of adult and juvenile diversion, my bosses have started to wonder what’s in store for the program participants once their six months are up.  We will have provided them with no new job skills, only a distracting physical condition that will take some time to go away.  In fact, some of the scientists are saying that some of the physiological changes might be permanent, which is not what they were saying before the program started.  Something about the interaction of LactoMax with their hormone supplements amplifies some of the effects.”

“Which changes?” Frank asked.

“Breast size, sexual drive, that kind of thing” Pickering said.  He didn’t seem too concerned.  “And then there’s the bodyhair laser depilation most of them have undergone, which my supervisors are now thinking they should not have authorized.  Be that as it may, from all the reports we’re getting across the state, from other pilot program sites, the females don’t seem to particularly mind their condition.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that, and I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“What I’m saying,” Pickering said, “was that if there was a way to legally sell the milk they’re producing, some, perhaps most of these program participants might elect to continue lactating in quantity.  Most of them are young, have no real job skills, have criminal records.  A study has been commissioned, a survey, to ask the volunteers that very question.  If, once their debt to society was paid, they could get paid for the milk they were making, would they continue?  Not live in a dairy, of course, but go somewhere, like the milk version of a blood bank, and donate?”

“But it’s not legal,” Frank said.  “And even if it might be considered, there’s no way the FDA would approve of selling that milk in the US—it’s so laced with hormones even after pasteurizing it’s got more than half as much as lactilus fresh milk.  We tested it, just to see.”

Pickering nodded appreciatively at Vanderbilt’s gumption.  “You’re right, of course,” Pickering said.  “But at headquarters I’m hearing two words which just might solve every one of these issues.”

“What two words.”

“Third World.”

 

 

“The Third World?”

Ben nodded.  “That’s his proposal, but it’s never going to work.”

“Why not?”

Ben looked down at Angie laying across the boxy automilker.  If he looked close enough he could see faint tremors in her skin from the rhythmic thumpthumpthump as the machine drained her of milk.  After five months without the sun she’d lost what little tan she’d had, and her skin was milky white.  She’d head her head shaved again recently, and the short blonde stubble was invisible against her scalp.  He was getting so he kind of liked it.  He wanted to run his hand across her smooth skull, and had to clench them both into fists to stop himself.  He was standing too close to her, again, but he just couldn’t stop himself.

“Economics,” Ben told her, refocusing.  “One thing I know, it’s numbers, and unless they want to run the program at a loss, they couldn’t afford to pay the women more than five or ten bucks a day.  For four or five trips a day to a milking center?  Even if you were unemployed and had the time you’d still barely break even once you paid for your gas.”

“Oh.”  Angie sounded disappointed, and depressed.

“What’s the matter?”

She laid her cheek on her forearms and looked up at him.  “It’s just—I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get out of the program,” she told him, voicing her biggest fear.  “I don’t have any job skills, and I’ve got a criminal record . . . when you started telling me about this idea, where I could get paid for my milk, it sounded perfect for me, at least for a while, maybe until I could get some money together and start taking classes at the community college.”

“Oh.”

Angie shifted on the machine, wiggling her hips a little.  “God I’ve got it bad today,” she said.  “I’m dripping down my thighs again.  Do you know how horny you have to be, how wet, for it to start dripping down your legs?  Can you just give me a couple of fingers real quick?  No one will know.  I’ll come in like two seconds.  You could do whatever you wanted, you know.  Until the nozzles let go it’s like I’m tied down.  Whatever you wanted,” she repeated in a growling voice.  She reached a hand out and squeezed his hard shaft through his pants.  “You know you want to.”

Every time they talked now she begged him to touch her, or worse.  Usually worse.  Months of hormones, of living naked and playing with cows, had rid her of any inhibitions she might have once had.  She couldn’t really remember if she used to have some.  Now, if it felt good, cows did it, and she was a cow, so she did it too.  She felt that way at least—she might not be producing as much milk as them, or have as many teats, but that was the only difference.  It was liberating in a way she never could have imagined, and when she finally let go of whatever it was she was holding onto, the sex got even better, as impossible as she thought that might be.  The other day she’d come so hard she’d peed all over the Verheiden between her legs, and neither of them had paused half a second.

Ben looked down at her.  He didn’t think she was getting hornier, he doubted that was possible, but it seemed lately as if she’d finally shed the last traces of her human social constraints and sexual identity and reverted entirely to behaving as if she were a cow.  It also seemed she’d begun to develop feelings other than lust for him, although maybe his own feelings for her were clouding his judgment.

Ben took a step back, so that her hand fell off the lump in his trousers.  “I also want to keep this job,” he told her, and not for the first time.  Not that she was wrong, it was torture to have to stand next to her, while she came no less, and usually more than once, and not be able to touch her.  He jerked off every night to the mental image of her on the autopump, and he’d begun smelling the barn, and her, in his sleep.  “You know I want to,” he half-apologized.  “At least when you climb off you can go find a cow to play with.  I’ve got to go back to work.”

“Do you jerk off thinking about me?” Angie asked him, her voice heavy.  “About fucking me, spanking my ass, shoving your hard cock down my throat while I lay here?  Huh?”  She was panting.

Ben was startled at how easily she’d read his mind, and took another half-step back, but then decided it didn’t take a genius to figure out how he felt about her, his hard cock was practically in her face as she knelt across the boxy pump.  He’d drop trou and bang her as she knelt atop the machine in a second if he thought he wouldn’t be fired.  He cleared his throat.  “Every night,” he said quietly.  His fantasy life was quite extensive, and she was the star.

“This feels so good, I almost wish I didn’t have to stop milking when I get out of the program,” she said wistfully.  It was true—she never felt more at peace than when she was lying atop the automilkers, having her breasts sucked.  And she usually came at least twice—her nipples were directly connected to her clit now, and the change seemed permanent.

“You don’t,” Ben said.  “If you keep eating LactoMax, I’m not sure how much, it’ll keep your milk up.  Even without the LactoMax, as long as you kept pumping, your milk would stay in.  I don’t think you’d be producing as much milk, even still eating the LactoMax, but I’m not sure . . . .”

“It’s not getting the milk in, it’s pumping it out that’s the problem,” Angie told him.  “What am I supposed to do, live here?”

“They sell portable pumps.”

“Those don’t hardly work at all.  We used those at the jail that first week when our milk came in, before we came here.”

“Government issue?” Ben said with a laugh.  “They probably didn’t work right even when they were new.  Lowest bidder junk.  They make good portable pumps that work just as well as these,” he said, nodding at the autopump she was atop.  “They’re just not quite as quick.  I’ve seen some of the retired belles that work around here using portables, and they don’t have any complaints.”

“Oh.”  She was quiet for a while.  “Would I stay this horny if I was just eating LactoMax?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said.  “Would you want to stay this horny?”

Angie didn’t answer for a time, instead looking off into the distance.  Then her eyes focused and she shook her head.  “Oh, what am I thinking about?  I’m going to have to get a job!  I can’t be pumping four or five times a day.  Especially when I’d want to fuck after every milking.  During.  Even women with babies can’t stay home all the time, what excuse would I use?”  She sobbed, and Ben saw two fat tears roll down her cheeks.  The pump shut off then, and she reluctantly pushed herself upright on her knees.

Angie’s nipples had enlarged from the pumps over the past few months, and they were an angry red from the fresh suction.  They weren’t near as sensitive as they used to be, but that only meant they didn’t get sore after a day full of suction nozzles and pinching fingers.  Even drained of milk her breasts were as firm as most young women her age, and jiggled nicely when she moved.  When she was ready to be milked, her breasts felt and looked to her like volleyballs on her chest—if she wasn’t at least a F-cup Angie would have been surprised, although she could hardly remember what a bra looked like.

As much as he liked her, and wanted her, Ben was a realist—behind those big tits and incredible sex drive, Angie was still just a loser with no job skills and a criminal record.  Making any commitments to her—which was just one of the many things he fantasized about at night, dick in hand—was risky.  No, not risky, dumb.  Thinking with the little brain, textbook definition.  But so what?

“Well,” he said slowly, “when you complete the program, if this new Third World scheme is still up in the air, maybe you could stay with me.”  He figured he was entitled to make his own mistakes in life, and it wasn’t like he had delusions about the nature of their relationship.  Angie looked at him, surprise and hope in her eyes.

“I don’t know how it’ll work out,” he told her honestly.  “Outside of here, when you’re out of the program, and I can actually . . . touch you, I don’t know if things’ll change between us.  But I like you.”

Angie’s eyes were big and looked wet.  She blinked, looked down, and then back up at him.  “I like you too.  I can’t even imagine what it’s going to be like for me when I get out of here.  I can’t hardly remember what the outside world is like.  I could stay with you?”

After a pause, Ben nodded.

Angie looked at him, swallowed, and said, “You probably should put me on a strict diet of LactoMax when I get out of here.  To help keep me the way I am.  To keep my milk up.”

Ben nodded.  “Right.  And I can lend you the money for one of those portable pumps, they’re not too expensive.”

“You’d do that for me?” she asked him.  “You really would?  Let me live with you?”

Ben looked at her, nodded, and a faint smile spread across his face.  “Like you said, I’d like to keep you the way you are.  In every way.  And I wasn’t thinking we were going to be sleeping in separate bedrooms.  Just because I haven’t touched you in here doesn’t mean I’m a Boy Scout.  I want you to still . . . well, still act like a cow, and I’m not talking about lactating.”

Angie’s face lit up in a huge smile.  “I can’t wait to feel what it’s like to be fucked while being pumped out,” she told him.  “You’re going to get so much more than you bargained for.”  A tear ran down her cheek, and then she impulsively leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the nose.