A Wet and Intimate Sacrifice

"Mom? Mom!"

My daughter's voice penetrated the druggy haze in my skull and I opened my eyes. I saw her leaning over me, her long dark hair falling in her face. She had been crying, and her voice was ragged. "Mom, wake up, please!"

"I'm awake," I said, trying to get a sense of what was wrong. My shoulders ached, and my arms seemed restrained somehow. It wasn't until I tried to sit up that I comprehended my wrists were cuffed behind my back. Using my legs, I kicked myself upright and leaned back against the wooden wall.

We were in a sauna. Literally. I'd been lying on one of the wooden benches, and the air hung thick with steam. I was coated in sweat, and for a moment couldn't catch my breath. As I gasped, my daughter Cherish cried, "Mom, what's happened to us? Where are we?"

"I don't know yet," I croaked. Then I tossed my own damp, red hair from my face and, despite the oppressive heat, felt a chill of horror.

Cherish was naked.

Not totally; she still wore her dark blue panties. But the rest of her clothes were gone. Also, her hands were cuffed behind her back, so that she could do nothing to cover her nudity. Her long wavy hair, extra-curly in the humidity, fell to her shoulders but did nothing to aid her modesty. Then the obvious thing I'd missed struck me.

I was naked, too. Stripped down to my green thong.

"Mom, what did they do to us?" Cherish said, in the same whine she used to protest my discipline. "Did they rape us?"

I was determined to get to my feet. The sauna was octagonal, and had windows on four sides, and I had to see where we were. But my head swam when I tried. As I waited for it to pass, I tried to recall my most recent memories.

I'd brought Cherish with me on a routine stakeout. As a private eye, my job consisted mostly of sitting and watching, and since my daughter was home for Christmas from college, it seemed a good time for us to catch up. We were parked outside the faithless husband's building, watching for his mistress' arrival. It was five degrees, and snowing, and we were both bundled up so we wouldn't have to keep the car running. I remember smelling something strange inside the car, a sickly-sweet aroma that I now knew had been some sort of sedating gas. Who the hell used things like that? Had we been kidnapped by fucking Blofeld?

The thought of being undressed both shamed and infuriated me; the idea that someone had done the same to Cherish filled me with rage. I clenched myself inside, but felt no soreness or stickiness; I, at least, had not been raped. "I don't think so," I finally said in answer to her question. "But wait 'til I can get a look at our situation."

Something else felt wrong, physically, but I couldn't place it. I stood, wobbly on my bare feet, and could now see out the foggy windows. The shapes of snow-covered trees greeted me on all sides. I walked to the nearest one, and my body felt heavy and sluggish; with my hands tied behind me, I was off-balance. I used my hair and face to rub away the steam, and saw that we were indeed in the woods, surrounded by snowdrifts. The sun barely broke through the heavy clouds. Frost formed at the corners of the windows, but could spread no further due to the heat. No other buildings were visible through any of the windows.

I looked around. Our clothes were gone, of course. I saw the door, went to it, and tried the handle with my cuffed hands. It was secured, probably locked from the outside. We were going nowhere. Yet something still felt wrong, physically, with me.

"There's water," Cherish said. "A fountain we can work with our feet."

"They don't want us to die, then. They just want us..." And I smiled at the irony. "On ice."

Cherish still had that high-pitched whine of fear in her voice. "You can break one of the windows, can't you? With your martial arts? Kick it, I mean."

"And then what? I don't think climbing naked through broken glass is very smart. And besides, it's a Pennsylvania winter out there. We'd freeze to death before we went a hundred yards. No, we just have to wait. They put us here to keep; they'll be back."

My head was clear, but I was still weirdly off-balance, as if something in my center of gravity had shifted. My shoulders and upper back ached as well, in a way that was somehow familiar. I tried shifting my arms, in case the pain was from their restrained position, but it didn't help. "Cherish," I said at last, "something's wrong. I don't feel right."

"Me, too," she said. "My boobs feel...heavy. Like when I get my period, only worse. It's what woke me up."

Her words sent a bolt of realization through me; I knew this feeling. I looked down at my own bare breasts. They were swollen, and the veins stood out close to my nipples. As I watched, a whitish drop of liquid exuded from the tip, mixed with my sweat and ran out of sight down the underside of my breast. I was lactating, for the first time in eighteen years. My breasts were full, painfully so, and heavier than I could ever recall them. "Oh, my God," I whispered.

Then I looked at Cherish. Her boobs were swollen as well; normally they were perky, but now they sagged low, her nipples no longer jutting upward. Trails of white milk ran down her belly.

"What?" she asked, looking down at herself. Then she gasped, "Wait, is that...is that breast milk?"

"Don't panic," I said, but my own terror was so loud in my head that I wasn't sure I'd actually said it aloud.

"This isn't possible," she said numbly. "I'm not pregnant, I don't have a baby...."

"Me, neither," I said. "I'm forty years old." I clenched my fists in the cuffs. Naked, helpless, and now...my body had been changed. "I think...they've done something to us."

I moved, and my engorged breasts swayed painfully. This was worse than I ever remembered when Cherish was a baby. It was as if, somehow, I was still producing milk at a steady rate even though my breasts were full. That wasn't possible...was it?

"It hurts," Cherish whimpered.

"I know," I snapped. I had no idea what to do. I tried to think about how this might have happened. The man I was hired to spy on was a doctor...had he done this to us? But how? And why?

This made our situation much more urgent. Being kidnapped and stripped naked with my daughter was bad enough, but if she was in the kind of pain I was--and judging from her face, she was--then we had to do something, and fast. Before our boobs exploded.

***

"Joe's bound to be looking for me," Cherish said as she paced back and forth. The hot, steamy air made it hard to breathe, or perhaps that was my own panic. "He'll go to the police, he'll call dad, he'll do something."

Joe was her boyfriend, who seemed interested in nothing except video games and getting into her pants. If we had to depend on him for rescue, we were doomed. And as far as my ex, Cherish's father, was concerned, if anyone could even find him, I'd be surprised. He was a loser, and the last thing I wanted was him to see me, to see us, this way.

It was hard to think about anything other than my throbbing, swollen breasts. The milky droplets surged out with regularity, but it was no relief at all. If anything, it made things worse, keeping my milk at an equilibrium beyond the capacity of my breasts to hold. My milk glands were swollen lumps now, and the slightest movement send hot surges of pain through them.

We had to do something. And there was only one real choice.

"Cherish, listen to me," I said, trying to keep my voice calm and parental. "You understand this is a crisis, right? And in a crisis, people have to do things to survive that they'd never, ever do in any other circumstance."

She looked at me through the hair that had fallen across her face. She was so beautiful, as tall as me and with the same body shape, though hers was still slender and girlish. "I understand. What do you mean?"

My lips were dry despite the heat and humidity at the thought of what I was about to say. "Cherish...we're going to have to suck the milk from each other."

"What? No!" she cried, and stepped back. I saw her wince as her boobs jiggled. "There's got to be another way. They'll come for us, they'll bring breast pumps or something, or give us an antidote...."

"Not in time," I said through clenched teeth. "I don't know about you, but I'm in fucking agony. And it's still getting worse, somehow we're still making milk. What seeps out isn't enough to give us any relief."

She began to cry, and the urge to hold her was overwhelming. Damn whoever did this for cuffing our hands behind our backs! But I forced myself to stay on task. I sat on the bench, put my feet wide apart and spread my knees. "Stand in front of me, Cherish. Now." She did as I said, still crying, her aching boobs now right in my face. Her hair clung to the sweaty globes of her breasts. I watched a bubble of white fluid bead up on her brown tip, then trickle down the underside of her boob.

"Oh, God, it hurts," she said through her tears. "Will it help?"

"I hope so," I said, then leaned forward and closed my mouth over my daughter's left nipple. I tasted the salt of her sweat.

I don't know what I expected. I certainly didn't anticipate the surge of hot milk that surged into my mouth as soon as I began to suckle. The taste was sweet yet tangy, and it left a silky coating in my mouth. I also never expected the cry, a mix of pain, pleasure and fright, that escaped Cherish as she expressed her milk into me. I recalled vividly how good nursing felt twenty years ago, how I could often reach a quiet, shivering orgasm as I sat with her in the middle of the night. I burned with shame as I swallowed her milk and drew the second mouthful.

I felt her cheek against the top of my head. She was breathing in long shudders, and whimpering. I felt her body tremble, and worried that she would lose her balance. The wooden floor was slippery beneath our bare feet, and I closed my thighs against her legs to help her stay upright.

"Oh, God," she whispered, "oh, my God, it feels so good...."

I don't know how long it took me to drain her left breast, but my stomach was full and I felt sloshily queasy by the time the flow slowed to a trickle. I wasn't sure I could handle another breast's worth, but when I pulled away to breathe, she turned enough to present the unsuckled breast to me. I took that nipple in my mouth and began to suck.

My belly was as full as my boobs by the time I finished and pulled my lips away from Cherish's distended nipple. I felt nauseous, and burped loudly. Cherish slid to her knees in front of me and put her head on my shoulder. Her breathing was labored and ragged, and I winced at the pressure of her body against my own boobs.

"I came," she whispered woozily, "over and over. I couldn't...couldn't stop it." She kissed the sweaty skin of my bare shoulder. "It felt so good, being...being sucked that way. Thank you." She kissed the side of my neck, and then took my earlobe in her teeth.

"Stop it," I said sharply, anxious both to break the moment and to get her to work on me. Knowing I was about to be suckled made my milk let down fully, and the pressure was worse than ever. She jerked upright, standing on her knees and facing me in horror.

Cherish blinked at me, the tone in my voice cutting through the daze she felt. Her face wrenched, and she began to sob again, big gulping heaves of air and noise. I saw the little girl in her then, and the defiant teenager who claimed I was mean and unfair and didn't love her. She leaned close to me and again put her head on my shoulder, this time as that child. I fought the cuffs holding my hands behind my back, wanting nothing more than to hold her. I also gritted my teeth against the vibrations rippling through my overloaded body as she sobbed. Our sweaty torsos slid together as we impotently sought comfort.

"Shh, it's okay, it's all right," I said, murmuring to her. I kissed her cheek. "Now take a deep breath and calm down, baby. It's okay."

It took several moments, which to me were agony. My breasts were rock hard by now, and the skin was so tight I felt like it must begin to tear soon. Worse, my stomachful of her milk threatened to come back up all over both of us if I jiggled it much more. I burped again, louder this time, and tasted stomach acid and milk. The obscene unnaturalness of the situation hit me anew, and I felt my own nudity, and shame, and feminine helplessness.

Still sniffling, Cherish raised her head and looked at me. "Mom," she said in a tiny voice, "I don't know if I can do this."

The pain was too much to bear any longer, and I snapped. My voice was righteous with fury and parental authority. "The hell you can't! I sucked you dry, now get down here and suck on me! Now!"

I saw the same sudden terror I'd seen when scolding her as a child. With no preliminaries she bent down and took my right nipple in her mouth. There was a moment of hesitation, then she began to suck.

The emotions that exploded within me at the sensation overwhelmed my consciousness. I told myself the instant beforehand that I wouldn't let it affect me as it did her, that I wouldn't surrender to the unexpected erotic sensations. I was her mother, I knew what nursing felt like and it wouldn't take me by surprise.

I came almost at once.

It was like an electric current shot straight from my nipple to my clit, clenching my vagina even before the surge of wetness could loosen it. The intensity was painful, maddening, and so sudden it was over before I could really comprehend it. My first thought as my head cleared was, This happened to Cherish, too! Her response now made so much more sense.

I looked down and saw her big, dark eyes looking up at me over the curve of a breast already significantly smaller than its mate. She swallowed a mouthful of my milk, a wet and vaguely disgusting sound. I felt off-balance in more ways than one: the agony remained in my other breast, even as relief brought me to an emotional crescendo that rose and rose without ever cresting. And my daughter's gaze was the most eloquent I'd ever seen: it mixed the camaraderie of a shared disaster, the resentful scowl of a child forced to a task she hated, and the appreciative sympathy of, dare I say it, a lover. That last wasn't a light comparison, either: we were naked together, we'd been physically intimate, our bodily fluids were inside each other, and now we'd made each other orgasm. I refused to consider the deeper implications.

As she had done, I rested my cheek on the top of her head. I wanted to cry. To scream. To come. But I could only shudder with relief as she sucked the obscene milk from my aching breast.

Later, we sat side by side on the bench, sprawled out indelicately. Our bare shoulders touched. Drenched with sweat, our breasts emptied into our stomachs, we could hardly keep our eyes open. "I'm so sleepy," Cherish said, yawned and burped.

"Me, too," I said. I turned and kissed her cheek. "You sleep, honey, I'll keep watch."

"You sure?"

I nodded.

"Who did this to us, Mom? And why?"

I yawned. "I don't know, baby. Get some sleep while you can."

She scooted down the bench and, due to her cuffed arms, lay on her side. She drew her legs up onto the wood and, within moments, was asleep. I watched her breathe, her face shiny and her delicious mouth lightly swollen from sucking. When her lips fell open in sleep I felt an unmistakable tingle in my nipples. I scooted away and closed my eyes against the sight, and the feeling. I clenched my thighs together and burped again.

Within moments I was asleep as well.

***

I could bore you with the details of how I woke up when men entered in a blast of icy air, wrapped us in robes and carried us out to a waiting SUV. How the drugs that changed us worked quicker and more effectively in a hot and humid environment, hence the isolated country sauna. How I discovered the man who'd done this to us--of course it was a man--did it simply to get me to work for him, as a staff investigator, for little pay.

And how each morning I receive a single white pill which stops my breasts from producing milk.

But it's not important. It's done. I've been permanently changed. And I can do nothing about it. The man--his name really is Mr. Smith--owns my breasts thanks to his little white pills, so he effectively owns me.

And Cherish?

She works here as well. As a lowly receptionist, dressed in low-cut, sexy clothes she would never have worn before. It turns out the men who kidnapped us did not expect her to be in the car with me, and made the decision on the spot to bring her along. So her condition is my fault.

Now we pass each other in the skyscraper halls but don't often speak. What could we say to each other? And I know that the rest of the staff, mostly women, must be kept in the same way. Their haunted eyes make words unnecessary.

I have no choice. I do as I'm told now. And I take my white pill every morning, ironically with milk.