Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Claire
The first thing I feel is pressure, a steady and rhythmic pulling at my breasts in a deep, mechanical pulse.
That’s what wakes me. That, and the soft hum of a machine I don’t recognize. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar, fluorescent, cold, and unmoving. There’s no window. No natural light. Just an artificial glow that makes the air feel too still, too controlled.
A slow inhale tells me the following—I smell sterile linens, faint lavender disinfectant, plastic, and something sweeter, like milk.
I blink, vision grainy, and turn my head a fraction.
Clear tubing snakes across my chest, disappearing into a pump beside my bed.
I follow the line down and see two suction cups fitted tightly over my breasts, held in place by a rigid harness and the machine drawing milk out of me in perfect, metronome-like pulls.
My stomach twists. The last thing I remember is sitting down to get my blood drawn.
The male nurse who brought me back to their clinic room had me sit on the bed.
He proceeded to draw blood from me, and I started to feel dizzy.
He had me lie down and had me sip on what I thought was water, and then before I knew it, everything went black.
This… This isn’t the clinic.
My body tries to move, but it doesn’t. I’m secured to the padded sides of the medical table with soft leather cuffs. My ankles too. A shudder escapes me. The door opens with a calm pneumatic sigh.
A woman steps in wearing pale green scrubs and white sneakers. Her braid swings softly at her shoulder. Her face is peaceful.
“Good afternoon, little cow,” she says.
Little cow. My pulse goes wild. “I…” My voice breaks. “Where am I?”
She approaches with the serene confidence of someone who has repeated the same speech a hundred times.
“It is Tuesday,” she says. “You’ve been sedated since yesterday when you arrived. Dr. Rhys instructed us to keep you asleep until your vitals stabilized.”
Yesterday. He took an entire day from me. My throat tightens. “I want to go home.”
“Of course you do.” She smiles kindly, heartbreakingly, as though she’s consoling a child with a scraped knee. “But your body requires care first. And we will take excellent care of you.”
Terror slides icy fingers down my spine. She taps a switch on the pump, slowing the suction but not stopping it. Then she gestures to the IV bag hanging above my head.
“This mixture is a simple blend,” she explains gently. “Saline. Electrolytes. A low-dose nutritional supplement. Just enough to help your system recover from the sedation.”
The liquid drips steadily down the tubing. “And,” she continues, turning to a tray, “this drink is your lunchtime shake.”
A large bottle sits there, opaque, creamy, and faintly sweet in smell.
“It contains protein, carbohydrates, vitamins, minerals, and a blend of herbal supplements that support lactation and healthy bodily function.” She lists them calmly, like a grocery list.
My stomach twists. “Please…no…”
“Your milk production has increased beautifully already,” she says with a reverent softness. “Dr. Rhys is very pleased.”
My heartbeat stutters. “I don’t want any of this,” I cough. “Please… I’m begging you…”
She keeps her expression smooth. “Your compliance ensures you remain awake and aware. If you resist, we will need to sedate you. You are free to choose.”
The door opens again. A massive man steps in, broad-shouldered, tattooed arms, and expressionless. He checks my restraints, adjusts the table angle, and waits silently beside her.
She lifts the bottle. “Let’s try the gentle way first,” she murmurs.
I clamp my mouth shut. The man responds instantly, one hand to my jaw, firm but not painful, thumbs at my chin, coaxing my mouth open with practiced precision.
“No… please…” I choke as the first cool rush of liquid fills my throat.
I cough and splutter, tears burning. “Little cow,” the attendant says firmly. “Decide. Awake or sedated.”
Awake. God, I want to be awake. Sedation terrifies me more than anything. “A-awake,” I whisper.
She nods, places the bottle back at my lips, and I drink from it. I want to vomit. I want to scream. But I swallow because consciousness is the only tiny piece of control I have left.
By the second day, I understand the rhythm of this place.
Morning:
· I wake up to find the pump already running.
· The man carries me, weightless and helpless, to a small tiled shower.
· A female attendant washes my hair and then my body.
· I use the toilet while she waits, unbothered. Then I’m diapered.
· I’m carried back, strapped down, with bare breasts and pumps reattached.
· Morning shake.
Late morning:
· Hourly diaper change.
· Vitals.
· IV bag checked.
· Classical music drifting from unseen speakers.
Lunch:
· Another shake.
· Palpated abdomen to assess digestion.
· Carried to the bathroom if needed.
Afternoon nap:
· A large, thick white bottle with a sedative-laced comfort formula.
· My mind drifts under heavy clouds.
Evening:
· Another shake.
· Another bathroom trip.
· Pump reattached.
· Music cycling through soft piano pieces I begin to resent.
Night:
· Last bottle.
· Darkness takes me fully.
And throughout every hour of the day and, I assume, night, a man sits in the corner. Always watching. Always listening. Always rotating with another just like him. Not cruel. Just… devoted to their task.
By Thursday, the tension in my chest becomes unbearable. Engorged. Full. Tight. The harness strains under my breasts. Even the smallest movements cause the pump to fill faster and deeper.
By Friday, I notice my thighs. Fuller. Heavier. My hips, too. My stomach is softer.
By Saturday, my tank top feels too tight against my ribs. My shorts feel as if they are digging into my skin.
By Sunday night, I am sure. I am gaining weight rapidly. Something inside me breaks open in a silent scream no one hears.
Monday morning. The attendant tightens the harness with gentle hums under her breath.
“There we go, little cow,” she coos. “Such beautiful fullness.”
“My clothes don’t fit anymore,” I whisper. “They’re… too tight.”
She beams, actually beams. “Oh, that’s wonderful news! You were much too thin on arrival. A productive cow must have healthy curves for our next phase.”
My mouth goes dry. “What… what does that mean?”
“It means you’re nearly ready,” she says brightly. “For Phase Two.”
My entire body goes cold.
“Phase Two?” My voice trembles. “What is Phase Two? What do you mean ’ready’?”
She smooths my hair with clinical affection. “For breeding, little cow.”
I stop breathing. Her tone doesn’t change; it's still cheerful and still warm.
“You’ll be both our Prized Milk-Cow and our Prized Breeding Cow,” she says. “And the highest bidder will pay a fortune for you at our next auction. It’s a tremendous honor.”
My throat closes in raw terror. “No, no, please… please don’t…” I beg, voice cracking.
She only lifts the nighttime bottle. “Shhh. You need rest.”
I try to turn my head away, but a burly hand steadies me gently. The bottle touches my lips.
“Please…” I whisper.
“It’s okay, little cow,” she assures me softly. “Everything is unfolding exactly as it should.”
The thick sweetness coats my tongue. The sedative creates the haze I’ve come to recognize. The world darkens. My limbs grow heavy. My heart pounds desperately.
And as the blackness folds over me, one last silent scream tears through my mind:
ERIK! PLEASE FIND ME!!