.........Its fall, the air holding that first crisp hint of winter, and I am shivering over and over, locked in the small pen in the barn, hearing other animals moving in their confined spaces, restlessly, snuffling into their feed and hay beds. I continue to shiver and squirm, feeling desolate, abandoned, and so very cold. My human body is not meant to weather the cool night air with no covering, even in the small enclosure of the walled off human pen built for holding women, for holding me.
The inky darkness surrounding me is like some sort of endless pit of despair and fear, until suddenly, unexpectedly, the hand held battery operated lantern shines into my pen, the beam of light piercing the gloom and stabbing into my eyes. I hear his voice, Its my husband. I whimper and try to curl deeper into the shadows, making myself as small as possible. I don't realize my pale, white skin catches the muted rays of the lantern and the gleam that is reflected in the night air is like a beacon to signal where I am.
He clicks his tongue, his amusement apparent. I am grateful it is not anger, at least yet. He tugs at my tangled hair that has been bunched into a ponytail earlier, pulling me head first to the stall door. Efficiently he wraps my hair around a peg so I am held in place. I hear the jingle of metal, smell the leather, and know I am about to be led out of the stall for the night. I should be relieved, after all, he has come to the barn to find me. But fear grows in a burning knot deep in my belly because he is not known for his kindness. He reaches for the thick wide collar that hangs just outside the pen and quickly, buckles it in place. I know better than to resist. Docile and obedient, I stay on all fours, head down and compliant, my ass up and offered for use. I have been trained to assume this position, still, it is not one that comes naturally to me and is difficult to maintain. Keeping my eyes lowered and fixed on the floor in front of me, silent, and frightened, I crawl forward. I know from the pain of past experience, submission at this point is my only course of action.
Cringing, I catch sight of yet one more collar, this one delicate with fancy worked leather. Its brought down from the wall outside the pen. He adds it with a simple snap of a clasp. The thick heavy collar that already encircles my neck stays in place. There is a small silver bell that is on this new collar. It chimes with low dulcet tones, and hangs down under my chin, easily ringing with my every move. I understand this will act as a signal to help locate me at any time. Gingerly moving forward it soon becomes apparent, I cannot take a breath without the bell beginning to chime with its low tinkle and rhythmic tone.
This new collar, has instantly become an added irritant and humiliation, as it rides my nape almost like a necklace. I force myself to hold steady on hands and knees, while my husband attaches a lead rope to the the larger rugged collar that I still wear. With another click of his tongue, and a doubling up of the lead rope to use as a small painful whip, he urges me forward into the center of the barn.
He flicks his wrist in a practiced move, a quick slap at my upraised bottom. I know to bite back my cries of pain while I scramble awkwardly to my place, my knees burning, the bell ringing with its humiliating rhythm marking my slow progress to the upraised platform that holds the cattle stocks. There are retaining bars placed close enough to allow a head to go through, they will be adjusted later, to hold my head in place. I see through a blur of my tears the hated machine I have heard my husband talking about for weeks. It sits with imposing malevolence bolted to another platform in front of the stocks.
The equipment takes up a fair amount of floor space, but there are still stalls on either side of the large open room. Chairs and benches placed along the walls in between each stall. Only my stall stands empty now, as with another click of his tongue and a determined tug on my lead I am led up the short flight of temporary stairs to reach the raised platform. My head is guided through the bars, tears continue to flood my eyes and roll down my face. I know better, but seeing the platform and the machine bolted to it directly in front of me, I can't help but burst out in a flurry of pleading words, begging for a reprieve.
My husband only brings the lead rope down harder across my bottom, welcoming me with raised welts and hot stinging pain until I howl a little, shuddering with broken sobs. Brought to my new reality, frightened and panicked, I try and struggle fixed on escape, as I begin to scramble away. But the hard bars of the cattle stocks grab at my head and hold me in place.
Soon, its not just the adjusted bars that hold my neck in place, but I am hobbled as well. Left on all fours, while a stranger's hand begins to stroke my hips and flanks, talking nonsense and making soothing sounds. It seems to all be an effort to calm me and in spite of my fear and pain, I respond to his voice, even relax a bit for a moment, turning my head, trying to place him, who is he? He speaks to my husband and tells him, "If you are serious about this, you need to gag her as once she is on the machine, even modified for a human woman's tits, the pain will be fierce."
The words fall down around me feeding my fear and panic. I shake my head, back and forth, a low moan, and whimpered denial, noooooo.... please.....noooooo....out of the corner of my eye, I can see my husband's intent face, his set expression, he won't be swayed. Whimpering and nearly crumpling to my belly, another sharp slap to my bottom.
"Stay up on your knees!"
With that he turns and drags the lead rope through a trough of water nearby soaking the knotted hemp. It's wet and heavy now, so when he strikes my ass again, it burns my tender skin, my upraised bottom flinching, my body jerking with each hard well aimed flick against hips and ass. He sets a rhythm and pace that brings a litany of groans, yelps and squeals from me as my hips dance in pain with each strike of the rope.
Sobbing and near collapse, I can't turn my head enough to see who the stranger is, but I hear his voice again as he checks the hobbles at both wrists and ankles. The lead rope finally stills, no longer slapping and welting my bottom. Its now pulled tighter against my heavy cow collar and fastened to a hook above my head.
The silver gleaming machine with its hoses and suction cups is methodically attached to my nipples. I squirm and squeal, my husband removes his belt and uses it across my hips while my head is held and a gag is placed, pushed deep into my mouth, nearly choking me. My incoherent begging is now reduced to muffled squeals and sharp disjointed cries. A litany of harsh sounds torn from my throat and pushed back into my mouth.
Seemingly ignored by the two men, the ritual continues, both working together, until nearly hysterical, screaming, my throat raw, struggling and trying to throw my body off the side of the platform. I continue to fight and writhe, in spite of the attached suction at my nipples and further hampered by the hobbling of wrists and ankles. In the midst of my hysteria I feel the sharp pain of an injection in my hip,
In seconds, the room recedes, the barn familiar, but not. My body nearly goes slack, but a hard strip of some material, used as a sling of sorts, is placed under my belly and secured, holding me upright and on all fours. I drift in and out of consciousness, the low hum of the machine barely heard, the ringing of my bell like an alarm pulling me back to the present, with each frantic peal of sound. I continue my futile struggle and fight against my restraints, but the heat and vigor has gone out of it as it's difficult for me to concentrate and order my muscles to move and respond to the commands of my brain.
The unseen man continues to stroke me, running his hands over my body, explaining in low tones to my husband, "You will need to hook her up to the machine, every two hours, for about twenty minutes, around the clock, if you want to that is. For the next few days anyway."
He strokes the side of one fat breast, "But by the size of these udders, her milk will come soon enough and you will be hard pressed to find uses for all of it." He chuckles then, "Or maybe not brother."
