The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Things accelerated quickly from there. Michelle woke up the next morning with two messages from Mrs. Wasserman. Both of them were the videos of the previous night’s debauchery. Michelle put on headphones and scampered into the bathroom, watched herself lick Mrs. Wasserman’s crotch, and moaned while she slowly touched herself.

It was worse when she watched the video of herself masturbating. At first, she was amazed at her flexibility. She hadn’t been able to spread her legs like that in years, let alone get them over her head like that. But the Michelle in the video seemed ten years younger. She looked so happy, and impossibly turned on. She was more animal than human. She moaned repeatedly, her body shaking and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. It was like watching a stranger fuck herself on camera. Like watching porn.

A completely pathetic stranger. If Michelle had seen this a few months ago, she’d hate this woman. She’d wonder if her parents or siblings or co-workers knew what she did. She’d wonder if she had children and what she would think if they saw her like this one day. She’d think she was cheapening her life, selling her body for a cheap thrill. She’d hate her, and honestly, part of Michelle did hate the woman on the video. She was weak. She was needy. She was out of control.

But she did look good.

She looked happy.

Happier than Michelle had felt in years.

She licked her lips and watched the video for the seventh time. She was edging, pushing herself close to orgasm, but she didn’t want to cum. Not yet. She was enjoying herself too much. It felt too good to tease herself slowly, to move closer and closer to completion. It was a little dance with her body, one she hadn’t played in years, one she had forgotten about until Mrs. Wasserman came along and woke all of her up at once.

She wasn’t sure she was going to cum. It was difficult in the morning. Her kids were knocking on the door, wanting to use the bathroom. Her husband was asking about breakfast. There were a thousand distractions. It felt impossible for anyone to cum like this. But then she heard it, lodged deep into the audio. She hadn’t heard it last night, not while she was there. But in the midst of her touching herself, Mrs. Wasserman gave the slightest chuckle and whispered, “What a pathetic little cunt.”

What a pathetic little cunt.

Michelle couldn’t agree more.

She rewound the video and turned up the volume, trying to drown out all other distractions. It almost hurt her ears, but that didn’t matter. She was close.

What a pathetic little cunt.

Her hand moved faster. She closed her eyes. She didn’t need the visual anymore. She could hear the wet mess of her fingers pounding into her pussy over and over. She heard the rumble of her moans turning slowly to moos. But that wasn’t what she was listening for.

“What a pathetic little cunt.”

Michelle’s world went wet. Her legs shot out and locked. Her back spasmed and tensed. She almost dropped her phone and gripped the side of her sink. Her body shook, but her free hand kept circling, grinding her clit.

In the stillness of the aftermath, she swore that she could hear Mrs. Wasserman’s chuckle.

What a pathetic little cunt.

Despite her morning, she wasn’t late for work. She was getting better at giving herself plenty of time. She knew she could always get coffee at work, and each day the humiliation Mrs. Wasserman made her endure felt less and less like a punishment.

She felt good this morning. She couldn’t quite explain it. The rational part of her mind knew she was going back to Mrs. Wasserman, to her control and humiliation. It told her that this would be another thankless day of being mocked and ordered around. In addition, Mrs. Wasserman may have more for her, something worse than mooing.

And yet, she knew she was going to cum today. Multiple times. In front of Mrs. Wasserman. She’d beg for it, and certainly Mrs. Wasserman would make her do something awful for it, but that wasn’t the end of the world. It was still better than making dinner and giving her husband a bath. It was better than vacuuming, even though she made it clear to her daughters that they should be handling the chores when they came home from school.

The undeniable fact was that Mrs. Wasserman’s control on her worst day was better than Michelle’s family on their best day.

Maybe she was a bitch to think it. Maybe she was a pervert. She didn’t know. Thankfully, she didn’t need to worry about it. She had no choice. Mrs. Wasserman had taken all that pesky freedom away, and without it, Michelle only had to worry about one thing: whatever Mrs. Wasserman told her to do.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wasserman,” said Michelle as she cracked the door to her boss’s office. “Is there anything you need?”

“No, thank you.” Mrs. Wasserman was looking over some papers on her desk. She didn’t look up from them. Her indifference warmed Michelle almost as much as her scorn did.

What was she becoming?

Did it matter? It felt good.

“May I have some milk, ma’am?” asked Michelle. She wasn’t nervous, but her body was buzzing. It was excitement. What would she have her do now?

“Later,” said Mrs. Wasserman, waving her hand to shoo Michelle away. “I’m busy.”

Michelle flinched from the dismissal, but closed the door quickly. She scampered back to her desk and sat down to work, but her fingers didn’t move. What just happened?

She decided not to dwell on it. She’d come back later. Mrs. Wasserman was in the middle of something. She’d be done in a little bit, and then Michelle could get her milk and finish her work.

Except the headache came earlier than she expected. By the time the nausea settled in, Michelle saw Mrs. Wasserman leave her office out of the corner of her eye.

“Where are you going?” asked Michelle. The younger woman snapped her neck around. She was upset about something. Michelle gulped and added, “Mrs. Wasserman?”

“I have a meeting upstairs. Aren’t you the secretary?”

She turned and walked away before Michelle could say anything else. There was some snickering around the office floor, but it wasn’t the kind that warmed and thrilled Michelle. She put her head down and tried to focus. Today was … the eighth? That meant … oh yes, the department head meeting. She’d be up there for the next … two hours?

Shit. Shitshitshit.

Michelle reached into her bag and took medicine for a migraine. It hadn’t come yet, but she knew it would. She’d rather be prepared. Then she got back to work. Things were sluggish. It was hard when the blurry vision started. Twice she ran to the bathroom and stood over the toilet, expecting to vomit at any moment. But nothing happened. She went back to her desk and did her work, no matter how slow the going was.

She muttered a prayer of thanks when Mrs. Wasserman stormed across the office floor towards her office. Michelle wanted to stand, to ask about her milk, but Mrs. Wasserman looked like nothing could be further from her mind.

“Come here cow,” she said loud enough for the whole office to hear. The other secretaries looked around, wanting to know who she was talking to, but Michelle stood up slowly, blushing. There was some gasping and giggling across the room, but this time it made Michelle’s legs go soft and gooey. Yes, she was the office cow. She was sure Michelle would make that company knowledge soon enough. There was no reason to keep that a secret.

Mrs. Wasserman slammed her office door in Michelle’s face. The older woman paused, wondering if she should knock, but then again Mrs. Wasserman had told her to come. Then again, what if she didn’t get milk for taking too much initiative? What if she didn’t get milk because she failed to take initiative.

“Aw, hell,” muttered Michelle. She knocked.

“Come in. What are you, stupid?” snapped Mrs. Wasserman. More giggling filled the office floor. Michelle blushed, but the shame helped calm her nerves. If the other secretaries knew how pathetic she was, she’d have less to lose. Honestly, the sooner everyone knew what she was, the better her life would be.

Before Michelle closed the door behind her, Mrs. Wasserman was yelling. “Do you work for me or the other way around?”

“What?” asked Michelle.

Mrs. Wasserman pulled out a full bottle of milk. She waved it around. “Do I work for you or do you work for me?”

“I work for you?”

Mrs. Wasserman stormed towards Michelle with the milk in hand. She smacked the older woman hard. Michelle’s hand went to her cheek, but Mrs. Wasserman pulled it away. She raised her arm to strike Michelle again, but paused. “Who’s in charge here?” she asked.

“You are, Mrs. Wasserman,” said Michelle. She tried to speak clearly, but the tears were already forming in her eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mrs. Wasserman.”

Mrs. Wasserman stepped back and lowered her voice. “It’s come to my attention that you might have forgotten that. Or do I need to remind you what you are?” She went to her desk, took out her cellphone, and grabbed her desk phone.

“Yes?” said a foreign voice on the speaker.

“Put me on the intercom,” said Mrs. Wasserman.

“Yes, Mrs. Wasserman,” said the other secretary.

Mrs. Wasserman held up her phone, showing the video she had loaded to Michelle. It was the video last night of her masturbating and mooing. She held it up against the speaker of the phone, ready to play the clip in front of the whole office.

“No,” whispered Michelle. She took two steps forward to stop Mrs. Wasserman, to take the phone from her, but then stepped back, holding her hands in front of her lap. “Please,” she mouthed.

“Who is in charge?” mouthed Mrs. Wasserman.

“You are,” mouthed Michelle.

“Say it.”

“You’re in charge, Mrs. Wasserman,” said Michelle. She heard her voice echo across the office over the intercom. She blushed and her knees softened. She wanted to sink to them and let Mrs. Wasserman do whatever she wanted. Let her destroy her. At least then it would be over.

Mrs. Wasserman picked up the phone and hung it up again. “Good,” she said. “Because I was starting to feel like a fucking barista.” She picked up the milk again. “You want this, my fat little cow?”

Michelle nodded.

“Then you should appreciate that I put up with your interruptions. Remember this: you need me, not the other way around. I shouldn’t be stuck in my office on the off chance you need your milking. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Wasserman snapped. “On your knees.”

Michelle sank eagerly.

Mrs. Wasserman snapped again. “On all four.”

Michelle assumed her cow position. Udders low. Ass out.

“Crawl to me.”

Michelle obeyed, crawling towards Mrs. Wasserman’s chair behind the desk.

“You should thank me.”

“Thank you —”

Mrs. Wasserman gave her a slight kick with her heels. Michelle whimpered and shrunk back.

“Cows can’t talk,” said Mrs. Wasserman. “Kiss my feet as a way of showing your thanks.”

Michelle hesitated a moment, but then leaned forward. Mrs. Wasserman was in dark Wolfords patterned to look like lace with bright yellow heels. She bent down and gave the heels a slight kiss.

“You must not want it,” said Mrs. Wasserman. “That’s a pretty shitty thank you.”

Michelle inched closer and threw herself into it. Two small kisses on the heels quickly became kisses all over the top of the feet. She kissed the ankles. She switched between the feet, wanting to make sure that each foot received its due attention. Her head was killing her, but she knew it would all be worse if she fucked this up. She couldn’t fail Mrs. Wasserman. Not again.

Her kisses started off scared. They were quick pecks, lips pursed and extended, as though trying to create distance between the feet and her mouth. But as she kissed, her body relaxed into it. Her tongue darted out and gave a quick lick, then a longer and thicker one. It was a cow-lick she thought to herself, proud of the pun.

Michelle’s mind shut off. She was all animal now. She found the hints of life that Mrs. Wasserman kept to herself, and nothing would stop her from getting it. She licked wildly more and more, needing more. She moaned to herself, and kept licking.

She was interrupted by another quick kick to the face. She yelped and jumped back, looking up at Mrs. Wasserman. “That’s enough of that,” said the younger woman. “I can’t go around with soaking feet.” She smiled cruelly. “Though I do appreciate the spirit.”

She handed the milk to Michelle. “Hurry back. I want to keep it nice and locked up.” Michelle reached for it, but Mrs. Wasserman pulled it back. “I’ll expect the same mark of thanks each time I give you milk, is that understood?”

“Yes, Mrs. —”

“Cows don’t speak.”

Michelle licked her lips. She tilted her head back and mooed. She hoped the girls throughout the floor heard her. Let them find out. Let them make fun of her. For half a second, she imagined all the girls watching her moo and kiss Mrs. Wasserman’s feet, each of them disgusted and laughing. The thought almost broke her mind with lust.

“Good,” said Mrs. Wasserman. She handed the milk to Michelle and turned back to her desk. “Now hurry back.”

Mrs. Wasserman kept up this routine over the next few weeks. Michelle would have to moo for her milk, just like before. But now she would kiss Mrs. Wasserman’s feet and thank her for her kindness.

Part of Michelle wasn’t sure what kindness that was. She paid for the milk and gave it to her boss. She did all the work Mrs. Wasserman asked for and more. She worked harder than any other secretary on the floor. She gave her life to Mrs. Wasserman.

But still, none of the moaned thanks were faked. Mrs. Wasserman had given her a new life. She transformed her. She gave color to everything that was dull and stressful. All she had to do was work her hardest between milk breaks. Life became the moments between begging and thanking Mrs. Wasserman for milk.

And that life wasn’t bad.

On the late nights when Michelle worked for free — the nights Mrs. Wasserman blackmailed her to be there — that life wasn’t just not bad. It was bliss. Michelle floated through those evenings. Even when she was stressed and embarrassed, when she sweated and panicked and fucked up everything because she was a stupid cow, even then she felt like the most special cow in the world. Not because she was worth anything at all, but because she belonged to Mrs. Wasserman. She was her cow, dammit, and she was going to be thankful. She was going to show her how gracious she could be.

Sometimes Michelle felt that Eloise was almost tender with her during those nights. There was a gentleness that came over her when no one else was around. It wasn’t like she asked Michelle about her children or her marriage — she already knew Eloise didn’t give a shit about them. But Mrs. Wasserman would let Michelle work on the floor in her office instead of at her desk. When they ordered food, Eloise would buy Michelle something even if she did make comments about Michelle’s weight when she chose something unhealthy. But even that … it was more out of concern than shaming. Eloise was still herself: arrogant, cruel, power-hungry, dominant, and a raging bitch. But it felt more and more like they were on the same team. During the day, it felt like Eloise went out of her way to find ways Michelle wasn’t living up to her expectations. Michelle was a perpetual fuck up when other people were watching, but when they were alone, Michelle was her favorite pet.

She was her cow.

Michelle had to be honest, that got her through many dark moments. When her husband needed help going to the bathroom, when one of her kids wet the bed, when she had to go grocery shopping after an impossibly long day and there was no parking, when she made dinner and everyone hated what she made, she thought of Eloise. She thought that at least she was doing something right for someone. She may fuck it up, but Eloise wasn’t a whiny brat of a child. She was Michelle’s better. She was instructing Michelle. That meant she cared. That meant she wanted Michelle. She could have fired her weeks ago, but she wanted a cow, a pet, even if she was chubby and clumsy and stupid. She wanted Michelle.

Vicki was the exact opposite. The other Mrs. Wasserman didn’t come to the office often, but Michelle endured her over the phone and FaceTime. Sometimes Vicki would come for lunch or on their late evenings. The gentle flow of being Eloise’s cow late at night died when Vicki was in the room. Michelle went to her desk and tried to avoid Vicki, but the curvy redhead went out of her way to draw Michelle in. She had Michelle wait on her. She would comment on her clothes and weight. Sometimes she would trip her just to make her spill something because she enjoyed watching Michelle clean up for her. It was one thing to work for a bitch, but it felt like Vicki was hunting her.

God, did it make her wet.

Michelle stopped trying to understand it. The worse they were, the more she melted. She knew anyone else would have quit. She knew her rights. It was abuse and sexual harassment. But she liked it. She wanted it. Late at night, she craved it. Even from Vicki. It didn’t matter. She was a stupid cow. The more they used her and mocked her, the more she melted. The wetter her pussy got, the slower her thoughts were. She didn’t have any concerns except to make them happy — even if that meant giving them chances to laugh at her. In the end, they often let Michelle touch herself while they recorded it. That was better than anything she was getting at home. Better than anything she had ever gotten in her life, if she was being honest.

Better than she deserved.

On one such late night, Vicki came over unannounced. She appeared from the elevator in a trench coat and heels. Michelle spotted the dark stockings underneath the coat as the woman rushed past her desk. She also caught the scent of milk from the woman, which caught her eye and attention. Before she opened the door to Eloise’s office, the curvy redhead held up a finger to her lips to silence Michelle and winked. Then she slipped into her wife’s office.

Only then did Michelle realize that Eloise was busy. Not just the normal kind of busy — which normally meant she had work to do. But Eloise wasn’t bullying Michelle that night because of some debacle going on in Hong Kong and taking all of her energy and attention. Vicki should have called before she showed up, especially on a night like tonight. And more importantly, she should have called Michelle, Eloise’s secretary. The young woman would undoubtedly take out the frustration of this interruption on Michelle later. If the two had a fight over it, Eloise would blame Michelle for that too. Somehow it was all going to be Michell’s fault.

She braced herself for the yelling that would come. Or maybe Eloise would buzz her and summon her for a lecture. Honestly, Michelle wasn’t sure who would be worse to piss off: Eloise or Vicki. Eloise would make her miserable tomorrow, but if Eloise rejected whatever shenanigans Vicki was up to, there would be hell to pay. Michelle imagined the redhead standing outside her wife’s office, pissed off and tapping her foot, looking for something to take her rage out on.

That would, of course, be Michelle.

“What are you doing here?” Eloise said loud enough to travel through the walls of her office. Her tone was not pleasant.

Scared beyond belief, Michelle put on some noise cancelling headphones she kept nearby for when Eloise was out of the office. It helped her focus, but she didn’t dare drown out a summon from Mrs. Wasserman. Putting it on now would be foolish, but she could never bear to hear couples fight. It reminded her too much of her own parents, and in her darker moments, it reminded her more so of her own marriage. So she put on headphones and stared at the speaker system, waiting to see the green light blinking that meant Eloise was talking to her.

The moments moved with agonizing sluggishness. Michelle thought of checking her watch or phone, but she didn’t want to risk missing the green light or the shadow of one of the Mrs. Wassermans looming over her shoulder. She had to stay vigilant while cut off from all sound. There was a kind of vague buzzing mixed with the sensation of being underwater, but besides that, Michelle heard nothing.

She knew this was foolish. She had tried to avoid feeling six again while huddled in her bed, listening to her parents shout at each other. But this somehow conjured the same feeling. Like she was staring through the crack of a closet or under the bottom of a doorway, looking for shadows and trying to decipher their meaning. She felt weak and scared, not afraid of what the two women would do to each other, but more frightened of what it would mean for her.

But nothing happened. No thunder struck. No doors slammed. No dark shadow loomed over her shoulder. No green light flickered to summon her. Michelle risked a glance at the clock and saw that almost twenty minutes had passed. Eloise didn’t have twenty minutes to spare. Whatever was happening in Hong Kong either had to be resolved, or maybe Vicki was sitting in the corner, waiting her turn like a good girl.

That didn’t sound like Vicki.

Michelle slipped the headphones off. The office was quiet. No shouting. Not even the stern and agitated voice of Eloise as she negotiated with some fool on the other end. Things were strangely serene, as though the two women had snuck out without her noticing as some kind of cruel prank or —

“Oh fuck,” someone sighed from inside Eloise’s office.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” said another.

“That’s right. Right there,” the first voice said.

There was some kind of slamming as something fell over. Maybe a person? “Forget it,” said the first voice. “Don’t stop. Fuck.”

Michelle blushed and started to put her headphones back on, trying to respect their privacy. But she couldn’t force herself to do it. Sure, it was their business, but now they had somehow included Michelle in that business, hadn’t they? It wasn’t ever discussed, but she was a part of their sex life. They were aroused by the way they treated her, and she was aroused to be treated that way.

“Don’t stop,” the first voice said. “Right there. That’s the spot. Deeper. Harder.” Michelle found herself standing and approaching the office as though enchanted. She knew each woman’s voice, but she couldn’t tell the two apart right now. In the heat of passion, they were both thick and husky.

“That’s right. Fuck me,” the first voice commanded. “Fucking fuck me.”

The heat spread over Michelle’s body and down between her legs as she moved closer. She wondered if Eloise was begging to be fucked. It was impossible to imagine the domineering younger woman bent over a desk and begging for it. But neither could she imagine Vicki saying it either. Maybe they had a third hidden somewhere in the room. But if they did, she was being more demanding than Michelle would risk with the couple. No. It had to be one of the Mrs. Wassermans, though she couldn’t imagine which one. Their voices were pained and desperate. They were weak and aching. They were compelled and subservient.

Their voices sounded like Milk.

Michelle stopped in front of the office door, her hand hovering in front of it, waiting to knock. By now she could hear the frantic breathing and panting of two lovers. Occasionally, the gasping was punctuated with a cry of “fuck,” but other than that, it was the sounds of skin slapping, breath broken, and things knocked off desks.

Michelle should have stopped. She should have blushed and turned around, going back to her desk like any decent person would have done. She should have pretended she didn’t hear it at all, but she couldn’t ignore the effect of the eager fucking on her. It wasn’t just the warmth between her legs. It was a weight in her breasts as her nipples stiffened almost to the point of pain. They were heavy and eager to be touched. It was an ache in her throat as she imagined the soft and buttery milk sliding down.

She was thirsty.

That was it. More than horny. More than curious. She was thirsty. She could suppress any desire now but her thirst. It drove her beyond the realm of the stupid, deep into the world of oblivion and self-destruction. For it was her thirst that caused her to knock on the door three times, eager to get their attention, willing to accept their wrath, as long as she could have her Milk.

The grunting didn’t stop.

The moaning didn’t stop.

The fucking didn’t stop.

The thirst didn’t stop.

Michelle moved deeper into oblivion as she opened the door and stepped into Eloise Wasserman’s office. Her eyes captured the shapes of the two women, though her brain refused to process it. They were both naked and pale. The redheaded woman was in expensive lingerie: garters, stockings, heels, lace bralette, lace panties, straps of leather. The thin dark-haired woman was spread out on top of her desk. The room was in chaos. Chairs had been flipped over. The contents of the desk were scattered over the floor. A computer monitor was cracked in one corner. A keyboard was snapped nearby. The redhead stood behind the dark-haired woman, thrusting against her. Strapped to her hips was a harness, and from that harness hung a huge purple dildo. These were the facts. This was the room as the redhead plunged deeper and harder into the dark-haired woman. The air was hot and stuffy. The dark-haired woman cried out in pleasure as the redheaded woman grunted with exertion. This was reality.

But Michelle’s brain was floating somewhere else.

She was thirsty.

So. Fucking. Thirsty.

Her brain focused on the refrigerator in the corner of the room. It held the Milk. It held life. It held everything. The women fucking each other wildly were just the catalyst to her thirst. They were a reminder that she was empty and needed to be filled by Mrs. Wasserman. Either one. It didn’t matter. She worked for Eloise, but she served both of them. She knew it. Her body knew. It walked over to Eloise as she was fucked without hesitation. The fear was gone now. There was no fear in thirst.

Eloise noticed Michelle and sat up to say something to her secretary. Her expression was angry and confused and the kind of face that was pain and arousal all at once. Whatever she said, Michelle didn’t process it. Her brain didn’t care. Vicki said something too, but Michelle didn’t care. The world was fuzzy and barren without the Milk. There was no sound and no music. No beauty and no color. Everything was painful and empty until she could drink again.

Without being asked, Michelle sank down to all four and assumed her cow pose. She thrust her breasts and belly down, arched her back, lifted her ass, and mooed. The women said something to her, but it didn’t matter. Her breasts felt swollen and heavy. They ached almost as much as Michelle’s throat. They didn’t give her the Milk, so she mooed again. Vicki finally slipped out of Eloise, stepping away from the desk while Eloise climbed to her feet. Michelle didn’t care. She mooed a third time, hoping they could understand her need and desperation.

Eloise appeared in front of her, squatting down low so she could look Michelle in the eyes. Her mouth moved, but only gargled nonsense came out. Yet Michelle read her lips, “Does my stupid cow want her milk?”

Michelle bit her lip and nodded. She closed her eyes, arched her back, and mooed again, sinking deeper into the shame, into oblivion. She didn’t have an out-of-body experience. She didn’t disassociate from herself as shame rolled over. Instead, she stepped into it, accepting the narrative Eloise had offered her. She was useless and stupid. She was a cow that made no milk. She was mildly entertaining and a burden at work. She was a stupid cow. A stupid stupid cow. She mooed and let herself become all Eloise told her she was. She mooed and —

A sharp slap from Eloise took her back to herself. The sound returned to the room with vertigo as the world spun in Michelle’s eyes.

“Please,” the secretary whimpered. “I need some milk.”

“No,” Eloise said. She didn’t sound angry, but there was a danger lurking in the calmness of her voice.

“Please.”

Eloise raised her hand to slap Michelle again, and the stupid cow flinched. The blow never landed. “You know my answer and my reason,” Eloise said. She pointed to the corner of the room. “Go and watch. Learn something, my stupid cow.”

Before Michelle had crawled away on all fours, Eloise was back on the desk, pulling her wife back into her. Vicki said something Michelle didn’t quite hear, and the two women laughed. Eloise’s laughter broke into moans as Vicki entered her again. Michelle sat in her corner and maintained cow pose as she watched the two women make love.

No. Not make love.

She watched them fuck.

Vicki was cruel and relentless with Eloise. She kept her balance by resting her hands tight around Eloise’s slender neck. But the dark-haired woman was no victim. She goaded and mocked Vicki as the curvier woman fucked her. She wanted more. She wanted deeper. She kept asking Vicki if that was all she had, and the curvy woman slapped her hard before pinning her mouth shut with one hand, choking with the other.

The former Michelle — the real Michelle — would have been horrified to see the scene play out. She wouldn’t have known which was worse. She wouldn’t have been able to tell the abuser apart from the abused. But that Michelle was gone — she died of thirst. Now the cow watched the two women fuck and wondered when she would get her milk. Her breasts were heavy, and her pussy was soaked. She needed to drink so she could cum. They would mock her. Maybe they would strike her the way they struck each other. It didn’t matter. After she drank, nothing mattered. They could fuck her like that if they wanted to.

Weeks ago, Michelle would have blushed at the idea of two women making love. She wondered with a gross interest what it would be like to lick a woman’s pussy. She joked about the preposterousness of scissoring to climax. But now she would happily hump Vicki’s leg while the redhead fucked her Eloise. She had already licked Eloise’s pussy, and she knew that if they told her to, she wouldn’t hesitate to lick Vicki’s pussy too. The old Michelle was gone. She was sober and boring. She was productive but useless. Her breasts were light and empty, her pussy was dry and unused. It wasn’t as though the cow was better than the old Michelle. No. The cow was worse. She was pathetic. Gross. Helpless. Hopeless. Worthless. Wet.

God, she was so wet.

The wetness spread from her crotch and down her breasts. Something damp soaked her shirt as she watched Eloise climax. Vicki stepped away from her wife, winded. The purple dildo glistened with Eloise’s juices. The dark-haired woman’s chest rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath. Her thighs quivered with delight as the orgasms were still rolling over her. Vicki looked over at the cow and smirked to herself. Without ceremony, she loosed the strap-on harness and let the dildo thud to the ground between her legs. As she strode towards Michelle, she ripped a hole in her lace panties.

She never gave an order. Michelle would have never done it, and the cow didn’t need it. As Vicki’s pussy presented itself before her mouth, Michelle went to work, licking eagerly. She pretended it was milk. It wasn’t. It was nowhere close. But Michelle needed to pretend. She needed to get through this. When both women were satisfied, she might be allowed to drink Milk. Then they may want to play with her again, and she would let them. She would let them do whatever they wanted to her as long as they kept her supplied with Milk.

The cow’s breasts ached as she licked. Vicki said something, and Michelle felt the presence of Eloise standing over her. Michelle didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. This was it. Each time she had the chance to get Milk, she knew her options were simple: serve or die. She couldn’t go on without the Milk, and whatever they did to her wouldn’t be so bad once the white cream was running down her chin and over her lips.

There was a sudden rush and jerk. Michelle almost yelped, but she focused on licking Vicki’s pussy. She alternated between trying to get her tongue as deep as possible in the woman’s pussy and trying to flick Vicki’s swollen clit as quickly as possible.

There was another jerk and the sound of rushing. Michelle’s blouse was ripped away with a third jerk, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t need a shirt to lick pussy. She didn’t need a shirt to drink milk. When her bra fell away, she didn’t stop either. That wouldn’t serve her either. All she needed was to make them happy. Then they would feed her. That was it. That was her life now.

A hand reached between her legs. It worked its way past her panties quickly and slid three fingers deep into Michelle’s soaked pussy. It felt wonderful, yes, but all the cow could think of was the Milk. Milk was better than being fucked. It was better than cumming. It was better than dignity. She focused on her task, sucking on the clit to pull it closer to her tongue and flicking it back and forth with the tip. Vicki bucked against her. She ran her hands through Michelle’s hair. She pulled and tugged. She hurt Michelle, but it didn’t matter. Cows don’t matter. Their pain doesn’t matter. Michelle had to focus on serving. She had to make Vicki happy. She had to make both of the Mrs. Wassermans happy. It was her calling, her purpose. It was the only way out. The only way through.

Michelle didn’t know when Vicki came. She was too distracted by the moment Eloises’s fingers finally made her cum. Not because of the pleasure — pleasure doesn’t matter to cows. But when she came, Michelle’s back arched, and all the pressure and soreness in her breasts flooded out. She felt something wet running down her belly, heading towards her legs. She collapsed into the carpet of Eloise Wasserman’s office while Vicki stepped away from her. She said something, but Michelle didn’t make it out.

Eloise stooped down into her field of vision. “Want a taste?” she said.

“Milk?” Michelle croaked out. Her throat felt so dry.

Eloise flicked Michelle’s nipple. Michelle whimpered and writhed, but then Eloise shoved a finger in Michelle’s mouth. It was warm and buttery. It was light and creamy. It was heaven.

It was Milk.

“That’s right, cow,” Eloise whispered. She brushed the sweaty hair out of Michelle’s face. “Now we can milk you.” With her free hand, Eloise squeezed Michelle’s nipple. The older woman arched her back and mooed as the milk flowed from her breasts. Eloise offered another taste but pulled her finger back before giving it to Michelle.

“But first,” she said, “I need you to clean my office.”

Vicki laughed from the other side of the room. “You’re such a bitch,” she said.

Eloise looked at her wife. “You love it.” She looked back at Michelle. “What do you say, cow? Can you clean for me? Then we can see how much Milk you can make.”

Michelle nodded. It may take hours to clean the office, and she had no shirt or bra. But the smell of Milk was all over her now. She would do anything to drink it, even if it came from her.

Absolutely anything.