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Chapter 1
“The goal for every client is a plentiful, speedy collection. That is the expectation with which you will approach every shift—getting our clients in and out and on with their day, all while maintaining our quality protocols. A plentiful, speedy collection makes for happy clients and a productive farm!”
The fox-like woman’s beaming, sharp-edged smile froze, her glinting canines transformed into something sinister and vaguely threatening as Violet tapped the laptop, pausing the video for the third time that morning.She’d not yet made it past the introduction today, needing to repeatedly remind herself to breathe and stay upright and that she was home, so bolting out into the hallway and making a break for the elevator would make little sense, particularly if she wanted to avoid the uncomfortable scenario of her elderly neighbors hearing the sound of the video coming from her apartment and discovering what she was watching.
She thought of little old Mrs. Muehlstein from down the hall, a withered, hunched crone with the beginnings of dementia, accidentally wandering into the wrong apartment, catching sight of the instructional video, and having a stroke right there in the middle of the living room.Is that what you want? For the last thing that sweet old woman sees is some minotaur getting a tug job? Get a fucking grip and make up your mind!
Her portal access was only good for another eight hours; eight hours in which to decide whether or not she’d be a good fit for the team at Morning Glory Farm; if her jangling nerves and ever-present anxiety would allow her to take the plunge and click accept. The implication of her words and what exactly she’d begrippingif she took the job occurred to her then, and she moaned in mortification. It wasn’t the first preposterous mental image she’d concocted since leaving Cambric Creek the previous afternoon, and Violet was certain, as she clicked play once more, that it wouldn’t be the last.
* * *
The job listing had seemed too good to be true.
Now Hiring! Technicians and assistants, no prior experience required. On-the-job training, full benefits, flexible scheduling! Visit our web page for more information and apply today! (Morning Glory Farm is a subsidiary ofPfizzlePharmaceuticals)
Violet had known it the moment it pinged on the hiring app, squinting at her phone screen in disbelief as she scrolled, nearly a week ago. No experience necessary, on-the-job training provided. Two weeks vacation and full benefits, including dental.Dental!She had no idea what amilking technicianwas nor what it entailed, but the advertised starting salary was higher than any belonging to the handful of jobs open in her degree field, none of which paid enough to comfortably keep a roof over her head.
The family upstairs had chosen that moment to begin what sounded like a good old-fashioned, barn-stomping square dance, reminding her that the roof over her head wasn’t exactly anything to brag about, which made the fact that she struggled to pay her rent even more galling.
“Pumpkin, daddy and I have been talking . . . now, I know you’re going to say no, but please just think about it, okay? We think you ought to consider coming home while you’re looking for work.” She’d practically been able to hear her mother raising a hand to hold off any protestations, could imagine it easily. “If you think you’d feel too crowded in the house now that Aunt Gracie is with us, we can clean out the loft over the garage. It would be like having your own little apartment! You wouldn’t need to worry about rent, and you’d be out of that awful city . . . just promise me you’ll think about it, alright? It doesn’t make any sense to be wasting so much money before you’ve found something stable, and it would be so nice having you home.”
She’d gripped the phone with whitened knuckles, trying to hold back her tears until disconnecting. Her mother always seemed to know when to call, always knew when she was at her lowest and most vulnerable—always with an abundance of love, overflowing with compassion and eager to help—but always at theworstfucking times. Moving to Bridgeton for grad school had always been a point of contention with her mother: too dangerous, too expensive, too dirty, too far away. She hadn’t wanted her only child moving to the big city, several hours away from her hugs and home-cooked meals and her own untreated anxiety disorder, but Violet had been adamant.
It was a bitter pill to swallow now, being forced to admit her mother was not wrong in her assessment. There was a particular sort of indignity that came along with being simultaneously well-educated and in dire straits financially. She had done everything right: had studied hard, made the Dean’s list, participated in campus events, graduating with honors. But then by the time she’d earned her bachelor’s degree, her chosen job field required a master’s, sending her back to the classroom, taking out several loans to do so, confident that she’d begin her career immediately after graduation. Her part-time job in the urban development office actually put her degree to use, but they’d been upfront that it was unlikely to turn into a permanent position, not with the scads of people who had priority ahead of her. Bridgetonwastoo expensive, and Violet had come to admit that she didn’t actually love living in the middle of a big, urban city the way she thought she would. Admitted it to herself, at least.
“If I don’t find something soon I’m not going to have much of a choice,” she’d agreed bitterly, pressing her tongue into the roof of her mouth as her mother cooed sympathetically.Don’t cry. If you start crying, she’ll drive here tonight.
In hindsight, putting herself into debt to work in the non-profit sector seemed almost comical; would have been a fucking riot, were it anyone else. Unfortunately, it was hard to appreciate the humor of the situation when she herself was the butt of the joke. There had been no crystal ball to show her that the job market would bottom out, no sidewalk soothsayer to warn her away from the debt she was taking on. The near future had no clarion call, and so she’d never suspected she’d find herself overqualified for seventy-five percent of the jobs with openings and unable to pay back her student loans with the entry-level salaries they offered.
She was tired of struggling to pay her rent; was certain she was giving herself an ulcer stressing over her inability to repay her loans and remitting the bare minimum on her nearly maxed-out credit cards, but the thought of moving home, back to the boring little town she’d lived in her entire life, where no one ever left and no one ever did anything but have more kids to ensure future generations of drudgery, to the loft above her parent’s garage, currently filled with boxes from Aunt Gracie’s house and evidence of her mother’s hobbies pursued and long since abandoned, was not one she could abide.
Now here was this job, a potential lifeline if she got it. She’d clicked the “apply now” button without another moment of hesitation.Anything would be better than moving home.Who cares what it’s for.
Famous last words, she’d been forced to admit the previous day, squirming in her seat as the training video had been queued up, glancing surreptitiously at the other prospective new hires in attendance. A green-skinned woman with broad shoulders and curving tusks, whose long, black braid sat heavily on her shoulder; a slender troll who’d scarcely looked up from her phone since they’d entered the video room; an anxious-seeming young man with long, rabbit-like ears who carried a water bottle emblazoned with the local university’s logo; and a pair of goblins who seemed to know each other, if their non-stop chatter was any indication. There was not another human in sight, but Violet had been half-expecting that.
The interview process had been simple and straightforward: an online portal to apply, followed by a video call, during which she’d been asked about her work history and organizational skills. She’d been invited to visit the facility for the “final step in the process,” traveling to Cambric Creek, a neighboring suburb that boasted a multi-species population—a longer commute than she’d been hoping for, but as the GPS led her through the suburb’s quaint downtown, past shops and restaurants until housing developments gave way to agriculture and industrial parkways, she reminded herself of the full benefits offered. Before she knew it, she was turning into a long, circular driveway, parking in front of a building with the outer facade of a great red barn, praying this might be the break she needed.
It’s going to be fine. You can do this, who cares if you’re the only human. You really need this job.
The aesthetic design of the building went out of its way to invoke the friendly feeling of a neighborhood farmstead, both inside and out. Artificial turf in the lobby with the ceiling painted to look like a summer sky; bright, punchy colors that invoked gleaming tractors and richly-painted barns, with milk glass vases of daisies on every surface. They had spared no expense creating the visuals, Violet thought as she’d filled out tax forms and on boarding paperwork before joining the small cluster of other prospective hires. The farmhouse aesthetic ended within the sterile white hallways of the employee corridors, the synthetic turf flooring of the lobby giving way to smooth linoleum and the bright colors smoothing out to cool eggshell and ice blue. A strange prickle of apprehension had prickled up her neck, a shiver she’d attributed to jitters and the strangeness of being the only human in the group.
“Welcome to Morning Glory! We appreciate you all taking time out of your days to visit the farm!” The tiefling standing before them had cool blue skin and the curling horns of a ram, and her smile was overly wide. “Today we’ll be giving you a tour of the facility, as well as the opportunity to register on our online portal and watch some process videos. Your portal access is good for twenty-four hours, in which time you’ll need to decide whether you’ll be a good fit for our team. If the answer is yes, you can input your schedule availability, and you’ll be put into the rotation for the following week.” The girl had paused to smile brightly once more, a spade-tipped tail swishing behind her. “Your first two weeks on the job will be shadowing technicians who have been with us from the beginning, so rest assured—you’ll be shown everything you need to learn before you’ll be on your own!”
She trailed on the edge of the group for the next hour, feeling awkward and out-of-place as they followed the tiefling in and out of various rooms, but she hadn’t been any closer to understanding what exactly the job she’d applied for entailed by the time they were led to a large classroom-like space, taking seats at the tables as the first training video was queued up. The overhead lights had dimmed and instantly the chatter in the room had ceased, everyone straightening to attention as the video began. A bright-eyed woman with the features of a fox had filled the screen, beaming from the center of the same lobby the prospective employees had gathered in that morning, wearing a black and white Holstein-printed apron over a white, cap-sleeve top. Behind her, filling the upholstered lobby chairs, was a cluster of minotaurs.
“Welcome to Morning Glory Farm! Incorporated nearly a decade ago, our mission has remained the same since the day our lab processed its first specimen—to uphold the integrity of the genetic material in our care, to set a new standard in pharmaceutical processing that the entire industry would model, and to provide a client-first attitude in all we do. Our brand new, state-of-the-art facility in Cambric Creek marries all three tenets, putting the client experience at the center of our collection process. As a milking technician on our collection floor, you will be tasked with ensuring a plentiful, speedy collection, processed in accordance with our standards in safety and sterility. You’ve already taken a tour of the facility, now you’ll get to see our process in action . . . follow me!”
On the screen, the fox-woman had twinkled as one of the minotaurs behind her rose, following her through a set of double doors. Violet had felt a sudden wave of nerves grip her, an inexplicable panic that had tightened her throat and made her grip the sides of her chair as if she needed to hold on for dear life.A plentiful, speedy collection . . . what does that mean? What do the minotaurs have to do with anything?She’d had no idea why, no clue what caused the sudden premonition to squeeze her heart, but a tiny, panicked voice in her head had begun to whisperrun!
“As you’ve already seen, our state-of-the-art collection rooms have been designed for both client comfort and ease of execution by our milking technicians. The bi-level design puts the tools you need right at your fingertips, keeping the process seamless and efficient. A dedicated team ensures each collection room is fully stocked and set up for every client so there is no lag time, setting you up for success.”
On the screen, several feet above the cheerful woman on the upper portion of the curiously designed room, the minotaur lowered his pants. Violet wasn’t sure if her strangled gasp had been swallowed up by the room, for no one had turned or shushed her, and she’d been very nearly able to convince herself she’d imagined seeing the quick glance of a rounded backside and swishing tail as the camera panned over a chrome appliance in the center of the room where the smiling woman stood . . . but there could be no question a moment later when a semi-erect minotaur penis appeared through an opening beside the woman’s head. Heavy-looking testicles hung behind the jutting appendage, and the fox-woman beamed, depressing the pump of a large bottle on the table beside her, coating her gloved hands in oil.
“Once your room is set up and your client arrives, you’ll need to ensure the collection unit is loaded and your client clipboard in order. Then there’s only one thing left to do—” her smile widened, showing a row of blinding-white teeth, offset with long, sharp, completely inhuman canines, and her hands raised, gripping the erection without a moment of hesitation—“start milking.”
* * *
That human men placed an enormous importance on their dicks was no surprise to her. The whole world seemed to be designed for cocks, after all. Offices that were too cold, seat belts that cut across the neck instead of sitting comfortably across the chest, medicines that had only ever been tested on one segment of the population. Modern conveniences had been designed with only one half of the population in mind, at least in the human world, so the discovery that there was an entire underground industry devoted to human men’s erections was not at all surprising. Learning the lengths to which pharmaceutical companies were willing to go to ensure the production of those erection-enhancing little blue pills didn’t slow, however, was eye-opening.
