CHAPTER TEN
"Talk to me, distract me," Gilly told Berto, forehead creased in
discomfort from her swollen breasts. They were in an elevated rail car, just
pulling away from Berto's hotel. Gilly was sitting down; if she stood up the
movement of the train made her breasts sway, and she just couldn't stand it.
The car lit up with as the commuter magrail pulled out of the hotel.
Then the AutoTint glass activated and the harsh sunlight was muted to a pleasant
yellow glow, making the flatscreens lining the walls easier to see. They seemed
to be running nothing but non-stop advertisements, but thankfully the sound was
low enough that he could ignore them. Most of the products they seemed to be
advertising had names he'd never heard of. As he rarely spent more than three
consecutive weeks on any one planet, that wasn't a big surprise to him. Berto
looked out at the mirrored skyscrapers passing by on both sides and the thick
pedestrian traffic on the walks below and marveled at how clean and new the city
looked. He had no idea what the tax rate was, but it had to be high.
Gilly's breasts pressed aggressively against her shirt, her nipples hard
knobby lumps. Her shirt was darkening in spots as two of her nipples slowly
leaked. She couldn't stop them; her rollers were set as tight as they could go.
Her nipples were practically purple. There was a single lurch as they pulled
out of the station, and Gilly grunted a little as the massive weight hanging
from her ribcage bounced.
"Tell me about the Dairy," he said.
The car was maybe fifty feet long and ten wide. Down at the far end of
the car he saw two big blue things that looked like massive eggs. He'd never
seen anything like them before and had no idea what they did.
It was a mixed crowd this late in the morning. Perhaps fifteen people
were spread about the car on padded benches. Some businessmen and -women, in
traditionally styled suits as well as a few tongis. One tall, majestic looking
woman in long black robes, the folds around her legs hiding, at first, the odd,
ornate white cross. She even wore the traditional headcovering. Two grungy men
who looked like manual laborers on their way home after the midnight shift stood
nearby, eyeing the nun. The rest were women, with and without children, wearing
a dizzying array of clothing styles.
"You said you go twice a day?"
"Four times. I get my hormone pop after the fourth milking."
Berto watched her globe-like breasts sway slightly as the magrail took a
curve. Milk from three nipples was now wetting her shirt, gluing it to her
bulging flesh.
"And how many of you are there?"
"Fourteen thousand in Garshak."
"Fourteen thousand just in this city alone?"
"Sure. They're starting to export G-Milk offworld now, and there's a
lot of talk about bonuses for girls who'll increase their production."
"Doesn't the Dairy get crowded?"
"Well, there are three actual pumping stations, the Main and two
secondaries. The one where we're going has about five hundred cubicles. It
handles between two and three thousand lackeys a day."
"All of you being pumped out."
"I do it myself, actually. It's simple, really, I just sit down and
hook my nipples up and let the draw tank do most of the work. Usually only
takes about fifteen or twenty minutes."
"How much milk do you produce?" He couldn't take his eyes off her
breasts. They were so big now that at first glance she appeared obese. A
closer look revealed that it wasn't rolls of fat under her breasts, but instead
more breasts. Berto remembered what her chest had looked like when they'd met,
just after she'd left the Dairy. Her breasts then had been totally flat,
nothing like the planets she was now wearing.
"I average about ten and a half liters a day, which works out to over
point four liters per teat per visit, a little above average."
Your breasts must be nearly hollow!"
"I guess so. The government paid to have us GELFed, so they want to get
their money's worth. Why have breastmeat that isn't producing, right? Besides,
they pay us by the liter. I like it."
The passing mirrored buildings were dazzling in the bright sunlight even
with the car's tinted windows. Covered, elevated walkways connected some of
them, and passed above and below the magrail line. The two laborers were now
both talking to the nun near the back corner of the car. Her smile was so wide,
so white, so radiant and full of joy he wanted to walk over just so he could
hear what she was saying. He had to force himself back to Gilly's situation.
"That's got to be irritating," he said, thinking about her 'occupation'.
"You can never make plans for anything that lasts more than a few hours,
otherwise you'll . . . . burst."
She laughed, then groaned as her milk-strained flesh bounced. "Not
quite," she told him. "I've got an AutoMilker at my apartment that I can take
with me if I have to go somewhere. But I still need to transport the drawn milk
to the Dairy within a day."
"What happens if you miss a milking or two? Or decide you want out of
the program?"
"Oh, we can't do that," she laughed. "Our parents signed a contract,
and it's binding on us. In fact, once we're old enough to have consistent
production they set a minimum quota that we have to meet."
"What happens if you don't make it?"
"Oh, they have counselors that talk to you, see if you're eating right,
or drinking enough, or maybe not taking your pop at the same time each day.
That's usually the problem."
"What happens if there's still a problem? What can they even do about
it?" The whole thing sounds like indentured servitude, he added silently.
"Well, it hardly ever happens," she admitted, "but some girls just can't
handle being a lackey. Five years after they start producing they want out.
And there are those that don't feel they should have to honor contracts their
parents signed, which is just crazy. It is the law," Gilly said indignantly.
"For the ones that won't honor their contract, if all else fails, they
get an attitude adjustment by some of the clinic medicos. Those girls that
don't want to quit, but just can't get a handle on their production because of
personal problems, are treated firmly but fairly, and put into FPP."
"What's that?"
"The Forced Production Program. It's the only way the government can
get the right amount of milk out of them. They have to move into quarters at
the Lackey Center, and instead of one pop a day they're given four or five, and
metabolism kickers. They don't have any time to make trouble after that,
they're too busy. I knew one girl when I just started producing that just
couldn't get herself organized. Emotional problems. Her production kept
dropping, and she was warned time after time, then finally one day she just
vanished." Gilly nodded at him.
"Everyone knew she'd been put into the FPP. I saw her six months later.
She'd lost about ten kilos, and she'd been skinny to begin with. And her
breasts were huge. She told us that they'd kept her locked in a room, hooked up
to a draw tank almost constantly because of the amount of hormones they were
giving her. She said it was as if her nipples had turned into faucets, and she
was always thirsty no matter how much water she drank. And even pumping all the
time her teats got stretched out, red lines everywhere.
"The guards treated her horribly. The worst part about it, she said,
was that she was so bubbly all the time from the hormones that no matter how
mean they were to her she still begged them for a scoop. They scooped her all
the time, too, but it was never enough. They made her do all sorts of weird
things, because they knew she couldn't say no."
"How long was she there?"
"Four months. Four months of near constant milking. They said they
only kept her as long as it took her to replace all the milk she'd shorted them
over the years. She's still not back to normal. Her breasts are these huge
pillowcases, and she's already got drawteat. If she lets them get too full she
can't even walk. She can't even get her arms around them then. And even on
just one pop a day she's still milking six or seven times and bubbly as a Jack
fiend. She's not right in the head either, after four months on pop overdose."
"That's horrible!" He couldn't believe what she was telling him. They
weren't indentured servants, they were slaves.
Gilly shrugged. "Well, she brought the trouble on herself. They treat
the slackers like that for a reason."
"Yeah, to keep the rest of you in line."
"Exactly!" She beamed at him.
"What's drawteat?" he asked her.
"Oh! Well, the way we give our milk to the Dairy is by hooking our
nipples up to vacuum hoses, right? The nozzles fit right over the nipple, and
the milk gets sucked out, is put through a purifier/analyzer, and goes into the
drawtank. Each time it takes fifteen or twenty minutes, and we've got to go
three or four times a day. That's a lot of time on the hoses. A lot of the
veteran lackeys, not all, but about half of those that've been producing ten or
more years, get drawteat. The suction, over time, makes their nipples stretch
out. Or, sometimes, it's the breast itself that gets drawn out. My nipples are
a lot bigger than they used to be, but they're nothing like what I've seen on
some of the old lackeys."
Berto tried to picture it. The way Gilly described these women's
nipples he imagined them looking like a cow's udders, but that was silly.
The car beeped again as it neared another station and began to slow
down. "Our stop," Gilly announced. She stood up with the care of a pregnant
woman.
Berto glanced toward the end of the car as the train slid to a graceful
stop and the doors opened. The two laborers had their backs to him as they
crowded the rear corner of the car. At first he didn't even see the nun.
"Hey!" he shouted involuntarily, when he saw what was happening. Gilly
turned her head to see what had gotten him so upset.
"That's a Sister Of Mercy," she told him, taking his hand. "Didn't you
see the habit? That's what they're there for." She gingerly exited the car,
careful not to bounce and trying not to be jostled by the crowds. None of the
other passengers in the car seemed concerned about the nun; in truth, she
seemed happy to be on her knees, servicing the men not just with glee but a
display of oral skills so astounding it left Berto standing gapemouthed as the
doors shut and the train pulled away.
The magrail had deposited them deep in the heart of a huge
pyramid-shaped office building. Assorted retailers lined the mezzanine, selling
everything from candy to computer notepads. The area buzzed with activity,
people hurrying this way and that, a few waiting for the next train to arrive.
Gilly led him slowly through the foot traffic to an escalator heading down.
From there they took one moving walkway, then another, ever deeper into the
bowels of the building. Berto got his first glimpse of a lackey other than
Gilly as a tall slender woman in a tongi got on the walkway ahead of them.
Clearly visible inside her robe were the bulges of multiple breasts,
substantially smaller than Gilly's.
"Bringing a pole-donor in case you get bored on the hoses?" Berto and
Gilly both turned to see another lackey. She had short, fiery red hair, and
wore an outfit that took Berto's breath away.
It was a light blue Sweatrem one-piece, and covered her to wrists and
ankles. The front was scooped low to display the cleavage of her jutting
breasts. The rest of the Sweatrem clung to her curves, including her four other
breasts, like a second skin. The tight fabric displayed her six big breasts
more flagrantly than if she'd been nude, which was exactly the point of it --
she'd chosen the outfit for what it didn't conceal. Milk had seeped through the
material and hung on her swollen globes in drops.
"He wanted to see the Dairy," Gilly explained.
"You want to see a dairy?" the redhead asked him. With a filthy grin
she lifted her arms above her head and shook her breasts from side to side. It
was a version of the latest dance craze, the Switch, but he doubted if anyone
had ever done it the way he'd just witnessed.
She stopped after about ten seconds, hair in disarray. The walkway
around her feet was patterned with white drops. "How was that?" she asked with
a grin. Her breasts were all askew inside the one-piece.
Berto knew he didn't have the words. "Indescribable," he told her
truthfully.
"Your pop hitting you?" Gilly asked her, sounding a tad possessive.
"Not any more than usual," she said, staring at Berto. She licked her
lips suggestively, then went about rearranging her breasts inside her top,
pretending she didn't know he'd watch her every move.
"I forgot to mention that you'd be surrounded by a bunch of bubbly
women," Gilly stage whispered.
"You're about ready to burst," the redhead said, nodding at Gilly's
milk-soaked shirtfront.
Gilly gave her a big smile. "We overslept."
"Lucky you."
The walkways had taken them to a more secluded area of the building.
The moving non-skid walk ran down the center of a narrow corridor. Berto
supposed it was for the lackey's comfort; in Gilly's state, walking would have
been unbearable, and almost impossible. To either side occasional wide doors
loomed.
"Back there are the storage tanks," Gilly told him. "Refrigerated.
There's a spur off the main magrail right below us, and the day's production
gets pumped into a tanker car and taken to the factory to be tested and
packaged. Today's milking will be on the shelves by tomorrow night."
"Hey!" he said suddenly. "PureGirl, right? PureGirl milk? Is that
what they do with your milk?"
Gilly cocked her head. "That's one of the brand names they package it
under."
Berto didn't know what to say. "I drank some of that when I got here."
Gilly smiled. "You could have been drinking my milk!" she said
cheerily.
The redhead's eyebrows went up. "He hasn't been?"
It was as if he was living a dream. Never in the far reaches of his
brain could Berto have imagined something like this. Lackeys, Gilly, the
hormone pops that kept them bubbling over constantly. And none of them seemed
to think that there was anything unusual about it. Not only was it the weirdest
thing he'd ever even heard of, the fact he seemed to be the only person to think
so made him want to question his own sanity. The redhead behind him, with her
pretty face, six big breasts, and phenomenal body clad only in a twoskin
bodyglove, was a perfect example. Two days ago she would've been the most
unbelievably beautiful and erotically charged vision he'd ever seen in his life.
But now she didn't even really interest him. Why? Because he was already with
another girl, younger, nicer, and just as pretty, with bigger breasts! Not to
mention that the redhead was, as unnatural as it seemed, nothing special. She
was just one of fourteen thousand dairy cows the government treated like slaves
and jacked up until no man near one was safe. He'd fallen asleep, and awakened
in a sexvid. And a damned good one at that.
The walkway ended outside what appeared to be a large waiting room.
Rows of chairs filled the big space, and more of those big blue eggs lined one
wall. At this hour the Dairy wasn't busy, and he saw only a dozen or so women.
Two looked like they'd been swallowed by the blue eggs, arms and legs jutting
out of the orbs, but from the noises they were making Berto finally realized the
eggs were some sort of sexual device. The other women stood in groups and were
talking idly.
A wide gated doorway flanked by two uniformed guards was the room's only
other feature. Two women were in line outside it, and as he watched the panel
next to the gate beeped and a light on it turned from green to red. The first
woman in line passed through the gate, and the second moved up to wait her turn.
"Oh good, it's not crowded, I don't think I would've been able to wait,"
Gilly said.
"Are they going to let me in?" he asked, seeing all the security.
"We're allowed to bring guests," the redhead said. "Some cowgirls bring
their husbands, some a synthetic. They know what the pops do to us," she went
on knowingly. "Sometimes I think they meant it to be this way." Cowgirls?
"You mean they could keep up our production without making us bubbly?"
Gilly said.
"I wouldn't doubt it. But what would be the fun in that?" She winked
at Berto and then stopped to talk to a middleaged nurser, the oldest one Berto
had yet seen. Her sloppy tongi gapped open, revealing mountainous breasts that
had long since lost their battle with gravity. They were great slabs of meat,
wide and flat, mounded upon her torso in layers. From a distance she might
appear to be one of those grossly obese people with jiggling rolls of fat
hanging below their waist, but up close Berto could see it was all breastmeat.
By the time they got to the security gate there was no line. Gilly slid
her Identicard into a slot in the console and waited for the red light to turn
green, indicating an open cubicle inside. In just a few seconds it did just
that. She was directed to cubicle C-3.
Before he was allowed inside Berto had to let the guards scan his ID
bracelet issued to him by the Tourism Bureau. His name and personal info came
up on their screens, including his arrival and departure schedule.
"Eighteen hours out of decontam and he's already snagged a juggie," one
guard said to the other out of the corner of his mouth. "Bet you've been having
fun," he said to Berto.
"Don't pinch me, I don't want to wake up," Berto said.
"I heard that."
Gilly pushed against the gate and he followed her in. She slowly moved
down the short corridor and he followed. The smell was the first thing he
noticed; it was something from a long forgotten dream, and made him think of his
childhood and, briefly, his mother. It was sweet -- G-Milk, he assumed, and
something more. Something more musky, more feminine. The scent of two thousand
bubbly nursers with their straining teats hooked up to draw tanks. He sucked in
huge lungfuls of the stuff, and found himself as hard as an iron bar. No
surprise there -- the air was full of female pheromones; every man who spent
more than five minutes inside the Dairy was affected.
The corridor opened into a big room. At first glance it appeared they'd
wandered into the heart of any one of a thousand nameless conglomerates.
Everything was grey or splashed in muted, unattractive pastels, and while not
old, seemed worn. Berto supposed two thousand nursers a day would tend to wear
out things quickly.
The ceiling was lower than he thought it would be, for some reason. The
recessed light panels seemed to also be heatlamps; he could feel the warmth on
his skin, a comfortable temperature, not quite hot. In front of him an aisle,
stretching away, all the way to the far end of the room. It was lined on each
side by small, grey-walled cubicles. They didn't seem very deep; in each, he
could see a female, but usually little more than their backs as they sat, facing
away from the corridor.
It took him a while to notice, but the big room was filled with noise, a
constant hum that sometimes rose and fell but never disappeared completely.
Women talking and laughing, and then fainter still, he could hear sighs, and
moans, and women crying out in a way that got his blood pounding.
Gilly led him along the wall to the next aisle and started down it,
holding his hand. Row C was the line of cubicles to his left. As he followed
her his head spun around as if on a swivel. Every cubicle he saw, every one --
and there were hundreds -- was filled by a nurser. The foot traffic was
constant as they came and went, some tying tongis about their waists as they
passed.
The cubicles themselves were rather unimpressive. About six feet wide
by five deep, they were separated by grey-fabric-covered partition walls that
had seen a lot of abuse. They were decorated with stains, tears, and,
surprisingly, dents. Each had an oddly shaped recliner chair in the center,
facing the back of the cubicle.
At the rear of the Gilly's designated cubicle, on the floor, was a large
steel cabinet. It sported two wide doors and a display screen that read
AUTOCLEAN COMPLETE -- PLEASE INSERT CARD. There was barely enough room for the
both of them in the small space. The chair took up nearly half the room.
Gilly inserted her card into the top of the cabinet console. The
readout changed:
WELCOME TANGELA SVENSEN!
PRODUCTION TOTALS
TOTAL LIFETIME: 23,542.26L
CURRENT YTD: 2121.59L
CURRENT DAILY DRAW (AVG.): 10.29L RANK: 2312
LAST VISIT: 2.419L
THIS IS YOUR 1ST VISIT TODAY.
"Tangela?" Berto said.
"Ugh, I just hate that name," she said, as the doors on the front of the
cabinet began to swing open.
"What does 'RANK' mean?" Inside the cabinet he saw a tangled weave of
clear plastic tubing.
"That's how many nursers have a higher average daily production than
me," she explained. "But it's really misleading. The longer I'm in the program
the more I'll produce, it happens to everyone. The constant milking makes our
glands get bigger, which I don't mind, but it'll probably also make my teats
flat and floppy. But when I get out of the program I can have them tightened up
again."
She very carefully leaned over and reached into the cabinet. Gilly
swung out a metal arm from which hung six of the clear hoses. Each was tipped
with what appeared to Berto to be a nozzle fashioned of black rubber. The
nozzles were clipped to the sides of the metal arm in rows.
"If you compare my production to nursers that have been in the program
the same amount of time as me," Gilly went on, "I'm actually in the top five
percent." With the care of a pregnant woman Gilly settled into the chair. The
hoses hung from the steel arm directly in front of her knees. The nozzles were
a soft black rubber and slightly conical in design. Each was about two inches
across at the mouth; the hoses themselves were an inch in diameter.
"Of course, if I do this a few more times I won't have to wait years for
my production to go up," Gilly said, indicating her straining breasts. "That's
what some girls do, actually. The money would be nice, but getting this full is
just too uncomfortable." Gilly pulled her shirt slowly over her head and let it
drop to the floor.
"Krikes!" Berto gasped, staring at her. If he'd thought her breasts had
been full before, they seemed ready to rupture now. Huge bulging veins wormed
their way across her globes, forced outward against her skin by her insanely
swollen milk glands. The skin covering her breasts was stretched so tight it
was shiny. Each had gained at least two centimeters in diameter since he'd seen
them last.
"I hope I don't get stretchmarks from this," Gilly said, looking down at
herself. "It's just a simple vacuum hose system," she told him, leaning
forward. "I'm going to need your help with this, otherwise half my milk's going
to end up on the walls."
"What should I do?"
"Pinch the end of my nipple, as hard as you can," Gilly instructed him,
indicating her lower left breast. "Don't worry about hurting me, it's gone numb
from the rollers."
Berto did as she instructed, roughly squeezing the dark purply-red flesh
jutting out past the metal rollers. She undid the roller with one hand while
moving the nozzle close with the other. She touched a button on the arm above
where the hose disappeared into the steel and Berto heard hissing. Gilly slid
her thumb and forefinger onto her nipple behind Berto's fingers and told him to
let go. When he did she deftly stuck the vacuum nozzle onto her nipple, sliding
her fingers out of the way at the last moment.
The clear interior of the hose was immediately coated in thick white
milk. Berto was surprised to see that the milk didn't come from just one main
hole in her nipple but from many. He helped her the same way with her other
five breasts until Gilly was fully attached to the vacuum system. She looked
like a fly caught in a spider's web.
"Oh, that's so much better," she sighed.
"So it just sucks the milk out?" he asked her. Gilly was sitting
quietly in the chair, checking the nozzles to make sure their seals were
airtight. A faint hissing filled the air.
"I have to massage my breasts to get all the milk out," she explained.
"The last ten percent, usually. But today I'm so stretched out I'll probably
have to do a lot more squeezing."
A readout on the cabinet's console kept track of her output. .837L it
read, and the number kept climbing. He leaned back against the side of the
partition and watched her. Gilly finally could relax with all six of her
nipples hooked up, and she sighed contentedly. Idly she stroked her breasts,
maybe to encourage the flow, but it didn't look to Berto like she was even aware
she was doing it. He began to feel as if he was intruding on her personal
space; Gilly seemed to have forgotten he was there; retreated inside herself,
her mind focused on her teats. He looked up, then around, not wanting to have
her turn around and see him staring at her, even though it was fascinating to
watch.
Looking around, however, didn't make him feel more relaxed at all. He'd
never seen so many backs in all his life. Bare backs, belonging to the women
who filled every stall. Most wore tongis, pooled around their waists, and a few
were totally nude, with the rest somewhere in-between. Most sat in the chairs,
leaning forward over the vacuum tubing, to help the milk flow. He could see the
backs of thirty women from where he stood, and just about every one of them
seemed to be masturbating. Some had other options: a nearby woman, standing
bent over, was being gently taken by the man behind her. Her small slack
breasts swayed gently in rhythm with his strokes, hoses clamped tight to every
one of her nipples. They were careful not to dislodge any of the white-lined
hoses, even though, from the looseness of her breasts, she appeared nearly
pumped out.
"Jesus," Berto murmured. It felt like his cock was going to rip a hole
right through his pants. He looked down at Gilly, who was still in her own
world, then back down the aisle.
"If you're bored, I could use a hand."
The woman was across the aisle and several cubicles down. She was tall
and slender, statuesque even, with shoulder-length red hair and a winning smile.
A pink tongi was pooled around her hips as she sat in the chair, leaning
forward. She was turned three-quarters of the way away from Berto, but he could
see the milk-filled hoses dangling from her chest. He could also see she'd been
playing with herself; still was, in fact. If there was any doubt in his mind
that she'd been talking to him, her direct stare erased it.
"Oh, ah," he began, and turned halfway toward Gilly, pointing. "I'm--"
"Go on if you want to," Gilly said, surprising him. She'd turned her
head in his direction, but didn't want to move her torso, not yet. She was
still two-thirds full, and if a nozzle came off she'd make quite a mess. "I
told you how bad the hormone pops make us. I don't mind if you lend a helping
hand. But don't forget who you came with ."
"Are you sure?" Berto said.
"My chest is too sore to even think about fiddling myself," she told
him, "much less furtspurting with you. And it's going to be another fifteen
minutes at least.. Go on, if you want to."
"You heard her," the redhead said. Her thighs were splayed wide as she
sat on the chair, and he could see her right forearm working busily.
Berto felt like a traitor, but Gilly had been very firm and insistent,
and he'd be insane not to. He took a few tentative steps away from the cubicle.
"I could use a hand myself," this from the woman in the cubicle next to
Gilly. She was a thickwaisted brunette with droopy tits and a nasty grin. She
stood rather than sat, with her feet wide apart, as the hoses drained her. One
hand played with her pussy, the other was looped around her backside and wedged
between her square buttocks. She'd buried three fingers deep inside her ass.
"Is that you Meela?" Gilly said. She didn't dare lean back far enough
to see around the partition wall. "You don't even like men."
"Right now I'd like anybody that has a spare hand."
Berto had to smile. "She saw me first," he said, jerking his head at
the tall redhead. He stopped in front of her, or rather in back of her as she
faced the rear of the cubicle. His cock felt like molten steel; he didn't how
the hell he could keep from introducing it, somehow, to this woman that wanted
his services, but he'd be damned if he'd let a lack of self control ruin what he
had with Gilly.
