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It is ironic that the latter event most sticks in her mind. For that, should her organs be deemed acceptable, may be where it is decided she will serve at Nusquam. After watching 79 squirm, 128 surmising that within minutes the exhilaration of letting down transformed to a sense of having life suckled away... akin to bleeding to death... the discomfort became evident. The woman’s plaintive cries went unheeded. The machine pumped and pumped and pumped. It is no wonder hand milkings are coveted.
128 mulls for how many years subjugant 79 has been milked... twice per day. In her bald nakedness, age is difficult to determine. But as Nurse Traite explained, the tagged right ears of the human cows demark much information, menstrual cycle and number of offspring brought to term included.
128 counted ten notches down one side of the tag. Impregnated ten times! A minimum of ten years lactating at the behest of Nusquam members!
But then come thoughts of the relative merits of life as a lactating beast. No sjambok... no anal penetration... no forced labor... limited Mastiff supervision. In being constantly fed through a tube... deluged with hormones and high lactose nutrition... there is tranquility.... an eery tranquility... as always the rule of silence enforced. Yet will subordinating her glands to the harsh suction of a relentless machine mollify her deviant desires? No pain... no suffering... no fellatio... no anal penetration.
What if she is found acceptable and declines the role? Can a subjugant of Nusquam refuse the milking parlor? Refuse anything?
Thoughts of doom linger. Still there come recollections of Nurse Traite’s expert hand. In prompting a strong expression of lactate... ‘jump starting the flow’ as the nurse quipped... a vibrator was applied to the clitoris of 79. 128 was amazed when the milk ducts instantly opened and despite the age of the well worn glands, beige essence immediately drooled to the nipple tips of the inverted naked form.
‘Works every time. So eager for attention.’
Cruelly, the vibrator clicked off and the extraordinarily long nipples where encased in teat cups, the long interval of pumping to begin.
‘There are smaller teat cups,’ 128 found herself commenting in curiosity.
‘Labia and clitoris... for girls who perform for me. A reward for special occasions.’
Ah, perhaps the milking parlor is not pure hell, 128’s thoughts vacillating.
Chapter Forty-One
“Your first visit as a member. Have a good flight?”
“The cabin gets a little claustrophobic when the windows are covered.”
“Security, Kelly. You know my concerns,” the Director reminds. “And it’s only for the last hour of the flight.”
For the final leg of the long journey from Teterboro, mostly over ocean, the cabin windows are closed when land approaches. Not even visiting members have the slightest semblance of knowledge concerning Nusquam’s location. But for the hot breezes and exotic greenery, for all Kelly Devers knows the flight could have been circular, returning her to some airstrip in a desolate area of America.
“Muskrat Mansfield arrive okay?” Kelly sipping her coffee.
“Being worked in the pump house,” the Director nodding.”You should visit him. Apparently he feels betrayed.”
Kelly laughs, smiling fiendishly. Betrayed indeed.
“You should know that after a long career as a con artist, the Muskrat was conned. About one fourth of his gold bars were fakes.... gold plated lead.”
“Do I owe you a rebate on my commission?”
“No. We took it into account before we sent your check. Just thought it ironic.”
“Well, I’ll get the name of his gold dealer. Perhaps another candidate for the pump house.”
“Yes, more irony in that,” the Director offering a rare laugh. “I’ll have them chained together.”
“Who is that hanging for you? He’s nicely erect,” Kelly turning her head, gazing with another sip.
The naked form of a tall muscular male idly hangs upright from the office ceiling by taut vertical cables. Hairless, forehead tattooed with the numerals 156, probably branded, right buttock beyond her line of sight, his penis stands firmly. On occasion there comes the sound of a strained grunt.
“Another mob rendition. I don’t like doing business with them, but it’s a quick and easy pay off, and none of the miscreants are ever missed, no questions from the authorities. This one ran up some gambling debts... I suppose lots of gambling debts since he’s here and now unlikely to pay. So the boys make an example of him... those who may consider reneging think twice in learning of his fate. Which reminds me...” the Director retrieving a cell phone. “They want photos... to be shown to those who have not yet paid. A provocative warning.”
The Director swivels, snaps then smiles.
“Such wondrously slow suffering. Some enjoy hanging potted plants. I have my own office decorations.”
“Any anesthesia when you had him spiked?”
