Cream This Thick Ch. 03 - Spill

Twelve times a day.

That's how many times she needed to get coffee, needed to get more milk. That's how often she had to moo for it. It didn't matter that she bought it now. Eloise insisted that the milk stay in her office, in a private refrigerator Michelle had to pay for. And of course Michelle paid. Apparently the milk wasn't FDA approved. Eloise would tell everyone else at the office that Michelle was keeping some foreign, suspicious, and potentially illegal substance in the community refrigerator. They couldn't have that.

And there was no way Michelle was going to go without milk again. She'd learned her lesson, as painful as it was. Every night she had to stop on her way home from work and pick up more milk. Except for Thursdays. Those belonged to Eloise. Each Thursday Michelle stayed late and had her thirteenth and fourteenth cup of coffee. So far, those nights had just been additional work. Filing. Archiving. Even cleaning.

Like tonight.

Michelle sighed as she stepped out of the bathroom with her rubber gloves and bucket. They had janitors to do this, but Eloise was right that they never did their job well enough. The bathrooms could be cleaner, and now thanks to Michelle, they were. She peeled off her gloves and dropped them by the bucket. It was time for coffee.

She knocked gently on Mrs. Wasserman's door.

"Oh, you know you like it," said Mrs. Wasserman, clearly not to Michelle.

Michelle waited. She wanted to knock again, but with Eloise, it was safe never to assume these things. She stood, waiting, hoping for a chance

"Yes, you do. Last time you practically came from the scent."

Michelle shuffled her feet awkwardly. There was no one there, right? No one came this late, and surely she would have seen them. Was she on the phone?

"Oh yes, she's coming along nicely. Almost as needy as you."

Eloise laughed. It was the same derisive laugh she saved for Michelle. The older woman's body tingled and tightened at the sound of it.

"Let me show you." There was a pause. "Come in, Michelle."

Michelle blushed and opened the door. Eloise was sitting at her desk with her feet up, her pricey Wolfords stockings exposed and her heels on. She held up her phone towards Michelle.

"Say hello to Vicki," she commanded.

"Hello Vicki," muttered Michelle. She wanted to step out of the room, to go back to her desk and give these two women their privacy.

"Jesus, speak up," snapped Eloise. "No one can hear you. And step in for fuck's sake. Close the door behind you."

Michelle obeyed. "I said, 'hello Vicki.'"

"Working hard or hardly working?" asked a mysterious voice from the phone. It was huskier than Eloise's. More mature.

"Um ... working hard?"

"Not sure?" asked Vicki.

Both women laughed at her.

Michelle burned with shame, but her body warmed from it. God, what was happening to her? If she was better, stronger, she'd yell at them or quit her job right then and there. Hell, if she was stronger she'd cry and let them know they were hurting her. Instead, she stood with her hands together in front of her lap, her face down, with her eyes darting up to scan the room awkwardly.

She cleared her throat. It was dry. And there was ... something. Some kind of mucus or something gross on her tongue. It was the classic sign. She needed coffee. She needed her milk. Now.

"Did you need something?" asked Eloise.

"Um ... it's time for my coffee."

Eloise turned the phone so it faced her and arched an eyebrow. She pressed a button and switched her phonecall to a FaceTime call. Vicki's face appeared on the screen. "See?" Eloise asked as she turned the phone so Vicki could watch.

"Oh, I see." Michelle could only see the basics of Vicki's face. Just the green eyes and long, pale orange hair. Her lips were a bright red, and her cheeks were plump.

"And what do you need to do for your coffee?" Eloise asked.

"Right now? I could come back later when —"

"Nonsense. You're right. It's about time for your coffee. You've been a good girl cleaning all night. You deserve it. You're probably exhausted, aren't you?"

Michelle warmed at her compliment. It was the first one she'd ever given her. She couldn't remember Eloise saying a kind word about anyone, ever.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then let's get some for you." Mrs. Wasswerman bent down and got the milk out of her private refrigerator, but she made sure the phone — and Vicki — could see Michelle the whole time. She bent back up and looked confused. "Where's your coffee?"

"I didn't want to presume that'd you say yes," said Michelle.

Vicki laughed.

Eloise smiled. "Good girl. You're learning. Yes. Go get your coffee."

"Thank you," said Michelle. Relief bloomed in her. She practically skipped out of the office and down the hallway to the break room. By the time she'd be back, Mrs. Wasserman would be off the phone, and Michelle could moo for her. She didn't think she could do it with Vicki watching her, not after overhearing their phone call.

Five minutes later she was knocking on Mrs. Wasserman's door again with a hot cup of coffee.

"Just watch," said Mrs. Wasserman. "I promise it'll be worth it."

"Are you sure?' said Vicki. "She's a bit old."

Michelle's heart sank. It wasn't the insult. She was old. She knew that. But Eloise was going to make her moo in front of Vicki. She was sure.

"You're pushing forty, dear," said Eloise.

Michelle imagined how she'd do it. She'd hate to mess it up. Eloise would make her do it again if it wasn't perfect. 'Like she meant it.' Of course she would.

"Heyy," said Vicki. "We can't all be you."

And still, Michelle wondered if Vicki laughed like Eloise. Would she love the sound of it? Would it haunt her? She thought of it each time she masturbated now, and she masturbated more and more lately. Three times a day on these longer days at work, with all the milk flowing through her.

"No. That's why you two need me."

Vicki's laugh was more of a purr of amusement. It sent shivers down Michelle's spine.

"Come in, Michelle," said Eloise.

Michelle opened the door with more confidence this time. She knew what was coming. She just needed to get it over with, just like all the other times.

"Ready for your milk?" asked Eloise. She held it up in her free hand and shook it.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And what do you have to —"

Michelle mooed before she could finish. She was proud of this one. She tilted her head back as she mooed, going deep from the throat, letting her whole body hum as it rolled through her.

When she finished, she expected to hear laughter. There was nothing. She opened her eyes, and Mrs. Wasserman's face was lined with rage.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she asked.

"I was just —"

"If you're going to moo like a cow," said Eloise. She stood up, still holding the milk and the phone. "Then you need to look like a cow."

"What do you —"

"Get on all four," ordered Mrs. Wasserman.

Michelle held her gaze, trembling with fear and fury. "Excuse me?"

"On all four. Now."

Vicki snickered.

The sound of the laughter ran down Michelle's spine. Her anger was gone in an instant. What was she going to do? Yell at Mrs. Wasserman? She had the milk. She was her boss. She held her life in her hand. There was no room to be angry. Only to be afraid.

Michelle sank slowly to her knees, careful not to spill her coffee or pull her eyes away from Mrs. Wasserman's. Vicki's laughter filled the room. Mrs. Wasserman kept trying to shush her, to not ruin the moment, but Vicki's laugh was hideous and wonderful. It was cruel and full of life. She enjoyed each minute of it, and though Michelle knew it cost her all her dignity, her body thrummed at the attention, at the joy she gave each woman.

They thought it was pathetic that she couldn't help herself, that she needed the milk. It didn't matter if it was pathetic or not anymore. It was reality. She needed the milk. Was it pathetic to need water or air? No. It was a fact of reality. The same was true of the milk. There was no way around it anymore. She'd tried to quit it, and that made it worse.

And if she was being honest with herself — and she rarely was — the past few weeks under Mrs. Wasserman's control were the best of Michelle's miserable year. She dreaded going to work in part, but she looked forward to her milk. She looked forward to masturbating as often as she could slip away into the bathroom. It was stressful to live this way, in a constant state of terror about how Eloise would tease her or punish her, but it was more interesting than working to provide for her family. It was something bigger than Michelle, something more powerful, and she wanted to stay a part of it.

Mrs. Wasserman scooped down and picked up Michelle's coffee, putting it safely on her desk. Before Michelle could moo, she returned and put her foot on Michelle's lower back, pressing down slightly. Michelle's belly dipped, her stomach and tits hanging low like udders. Her ass rose as her back arched, and for a split second, she imagined Michelle behind her with a strap on, her mooing while she was fucked just like this.

But the image faded quickly.

"That's better," said Mrs. Wasserman as she moved in front of Michelle and sat on the edge of her desk. "Now, be a good cow and moo for us."

The phone was facing Michelle, and she could see Vicki's face. If what Mrs. Wasserman said was true, and Michelle was approaching forty, then she looked fabulous for her age. Her hair was strawberry blonde in a tight ponytail. She had some freckles on her cheeks, but her eyes were dark and narrow. Despite that, her smile was wide and her cheeks were plump. She was enjoying each moment of this, like coming to see the freak show at the local county fair.

And Michelle was the freak.

"Something funny, cow?" asked Vicki. Despite the merriment on her face, her voice was cruel and cold.

"No, ma'am," said Michelle.

"Then moo for me," she commanded.

Michelle's eyes darted to Mrs. Wasserman, waiting for approval. Her boss nodded, and Michelle closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and mooed. It was better than the one before, one she could be proud of. Before, when she mooed for Mrs. Wasserman, it was all vocal. She was making the sound of a cow. Now, with Vicki watching her, she tried to embody the cow. She imagined herself on her knees, ass out, belly down, head back, mooing like a cow in heat. Like a cow aching with her fullness. She imagined each of her breasts heavy and sagging with milk that needed to be pinched and squeezed. She imagined herself in white lingerie with black spots. She imagined Michelle the Cow, horny and in her place, mooing like a whore.

As she mooed, she forgot why she was doing it. It wasn't for the milk. Adult cows don't drink milk. It was for something else. Perhaps to remember her place in front of Mrs. Wasserman. Perhaps it was to amuse Vicki. Perhaps it was because that's who she truly was. Or perhaps it was because she knew it turned her on. She knew that after she drank her milk, the thick cream of it running down her lips, she'd run off to the bathroom and finger herself wildly. Mrs. Wasserman would know. She always knew lately. Everytime Michelle came out of the bathroom, breathless and reaking of sweat or sex, Mrs. Wasserman would ask her if she enjoyed her coffee. She made little jokes about Michelle's long bathroom breaks. She knew, and she enjoyed it.

That was it. That was why Michelle did it. It was because Eloise enjoyed it. Whatever Eloise enjoyed, she got. If she wanted to see her pathetic secretary moo like a whore, that's exactly what she'd get. And more importantly, that's all Michelle wanted to give her. There was no alternative. There was only what Eloise wanted and how happy she would be when she got it. That was Michelle's world. That was why she mooed.

When she finished and opened her eyes, Mrs. Wasserman was clapping. Vicki was laughing. Michelle's face burned with shame, and she looked back down at the floor.

"I think they might have heard that upstairs," said Mrs. Wasserman. She walked over to her desk and picked up her phone. She waited for a minute, and then she smiled. "Mike? Yeah. Did you just hear a fucking cow? Yeah. Like, a fucking moo. You did? Good. So I'm not going crazy. Check your offices. I bet one of the interns is fucking jerking off to some cow porno." More laughter. The laughter ran over Michelle's body, warming her. "Yeah, I'll let you know if I hear it again. We'll keep an ear out for it." Mrs. Wasserman hung up the phone and looked back at Vicki. They both laughed again.

"Maybe you're right," said Vicki. "Maybe she's ready."

"I know! She's so pathetic."

"You completely own her."

"Yup. Watch, watch." Mrs. Wasserman looked at Michelle. She extended one finger pointed down and twirled it. "Spin around for me, cow."

Michelle blushed, but she obeyed, spinning on all four. She was rewarded with a chorus of laughter. "See?!" squeaked Mrs. Wasserman. "Whatever I want."

"She might be ready. Sure she's straight?"

Eloise pursed her lips with delight rather than scorn. "She's whatever I want now."

"And then ...?"

"Yes." Eloise licked her lips. "Then you can teach her."

The two fell into an easy rhythm, completely ignoring Michelle, talking about something she didn't understand. Part of the conversation turned erotic. Vicki couldn't wait till Eloise got home. She couldn't wait to fall on her knees for her big hot executive. Things like that.

Michelle cleared her throat to get their attention.

"Oh," said Mrs. Wasserman. "I forgot you were there."

"Can I ... " Michelle swallowed. "Can I please have some milk now?" She felt the sticky dryness in her throat and the back of her mouth. If she didn't get some milk soon, she'd go insane. She was noticing the symptoms of withdrawal already. Her vision blurred. Her head hurt. She was sweating. She needed milk immediately.

Mrs. Wasserman looked at her phone and cocked an eyebrow. "What do you think?" she asked. "Is she ready?"

"Oh yes. I think she's earned it. Give her the milk."

Mrs. Wasserman smiled, then turned slowly to Michelle. She raised the milk in one hand and shook it slightly. "Come, cow," she commanded. "Crawl for it."

Michelle blushed again but she obeyed. On all four, she crawled across the office to Mrs. Wasserman's desk. The dark-haired woman stepped out from behind it, moving to one of the plush armchairs nearby. She sat in it and jiggled the milk once more, summoning Michelle to her. Michelle altered her path, heading towards her employer.

Not once did she wonder how she got into this impossible situation. She didn't worry about what Mrs. Wasserman and Vicki hinted at in their conversation. She didn't mind that they laughed at her or thought she was pathetic. Each moment that passed without her milk made her more and more single-minded. She only had one purpose in life, and that was to get more milk. That consumed her entire being. She didn't wonder how Mrs. Wasserman would escalate this or how she would degrade her next. Maybe she'd have her wear a cow outfit as her uniform to work. Maybe she'd make her moo in front of the other executives. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the milk. Michelle had obeyed. She'd been a good cow. She deserved her milk, god dammit.

"Is this what you want?" asked Mrs. Wasserman. She twisted off the top and smelled the milk, swirling it around in front of her nose as though it was something precious. She made a disgusted face and pulled her face away. "Ugh, it smells awful. I can't believe you drink it."

Michelle didn't need her to understand why she drank it. She just needed Mrs. Wassmerman to give it to her. She crawled closer, but Mrs. Wasserman stuck out her foot and stopped her.

"Take my shoes off," she commanded. "I've been on them all day."

Michelle didn't hesitate. Whatever Mrs. Wasserman wanted, she'd do. She just needed that milk. Her vision was blurring already. Each moment that passed without her milk was drawing her closer and closer to agony. Just one sip.

As the bright pink heels slipped off Mrs. Wasserman's foot, the heavy odor of feet and sweat filled the air. She was wearing white stockings — Wolfords, of course — that rose up and under her skirt.

"Give them a kiss," whispered Mrs. Wasserman.

That broke the spell over Michelle. She looked up at the younger woman, hesitating. Her eyes darted to the phone in Mrs. Wasserman's other hand, where Vicki watched. The blonde woman in the phone was rapt, holding her breath at this moment.

"What?" asked Michelle.

"Damn," hissed Mrs. Wasserman. She turned the phone and shrugged at Vicki. "Worth a shot."

"We'll just have to do it the hard way," said Vicki.

"Guess so." Mrs. Wasserman turned the phone and her attention back to Michelle. "Don't worry about it," she said. "Here's your milk, you've earned it." She leaned forward to hand the milk to Michelle, but something spasmed in her. Her hand jerked, and the milk bottle tilted, all of the precious and thick white cream poured out of the bottle and onto Mrs. Wasserman's lap. Michelle cried out but watched helplessly as it spread over Mrs. Wasserman's crotch, dripped down her white stockings, and ran over her feet where it dripped onto the floor.

"Oops," said Mrs. Wasserman. "My bad."

"No," gasps Michelle. "No no no no no no. Nonononono."

She looks around for something to scoop it up, someway to save it. If she doesn't get it now, she's not sure when she'll get more milk. It could be hours. She may even have to wait until tomorrow. She couldn't do that. She absolutely couldn't do that.

Without a better plan, Michelle dove forward and licked the milk from the floor. Mrs. Wasserman pulled back her feet and gave a cry as something feral took over Michelle. The older woman knew that without this milk, she would die. She knew it deeper than she knew anything else. More than the fact that she needed this job. More than the fact that her husband or children would be disgusted with her if they saw her now. More than the concept of human dignity or decency. The most primal part of her brain, the part that feared the dark and knew the motions of fucking, needed this milk.

She lapped up the milk from the floor like a cat. Her tongue worked in long strokes, but it was clumsy. She tried to curl the tip of it at the end of each stroke, but still the milk dribbled down her lips, down her chin, and back to the floor. She used her hands where she could, coating them in milk and sucking on them. The relief was immediate. Already her vision was returning to her, and some of the pain in her temples receded. As the milk spread out along the floor, she pressed her tongue flat and used long and slow strokes to get as much of it as she could. She didn't care what else came with it. She needed milk.

When it was clean, she looked up. Vicki was giggling, but Mrs. Wasserman had a different face. There was a hint of amusement to her face, but mostly it was condescension. It was scorn and derision. It was the face of an expected disappointment, or perhaps a surprising confirmation of a long held suspicion. Michelle couldn't tell, but she knew it drew no warmth. It was cold and calculating. It was heartless and cruel.

It was beautiful.

"Do it," said Vicki. "Do it, Eloise."

Mrs. Wasserman nodded slowly, then stuck her feet back out. "Was that enough for you, little cow?"

Michelle shook her head. No. It wasn't enough. Not even close. She'd put more than three times that amount in her coffee. She was drinking coffee-flavored milk these days. Each time she had coffee, she needed a little bit more, or else the headaches came back.

Mrs. Wasserman gestured to her lap, where the milk was running down the edge of her skirt, down her expensive stockings, and straight towards her pussy. "There's more here." She shook the empty milk bottle. "But I'm afraid this is all gone."