The Pasture in Space - Revolution

And with one last gasp, Gwendolyn attempted to will out one more command.

Forget.

Did it work?

Gwendolyn body gave out a weak shudder as she let the throbbing thought go. Her pussy quaked with the additional attention, letting out a weak, barely noticeable orgasm.

"Dismissed!"

Her vision went blurry as she heard Violet's voice. Her head rolled back, light, airy, barely attached to the rest of her body. Everything ached, to the point that Gwendolyn could not identify a single point of pain.

Then she lost consciousness.

7

"What happened back there?" Rigel asked Elara.

Elara was selected during a time when there were plenty of hucows and beeders. Like Violet, she might have been placed in either category. Her brunette hair and medium sized breasts pointed to a time of plenty, when Overseer's Council had the luxury of letting a few choice prospects go.

"You'll need to produce more," Elara said blankly. "You don't want to end up like Gwendolyn next quarter. You were close."

"No not that, the other thing, why did you..."

"Why did I what?"

"Mastubate!"

"What are you talking about?"

Rigel was befuddled. She had watched Elara, seeing the blushing in her chest, those long lashes batting as she worked her long fingers inside her pussy. And now, after all that, she was pretending not to...

Then it clicked.

The milk!

Rigel hadn't partook out of her own repugnance at violating one of their own. It was a petty rebellion, blossomed in part from the inside information she provided to a council member in exchange for her safety. Even so, it had been stupid. The kind of thing that might have drawn undue attention to her carefully guarded arrangement.

But she so loathed the existence of hucows that she even hated the idea of ingesting milk. Like the rest of the milk maids, she was naturally disinclined towards enjoying the fruits of their labors, knowing the cruel cost of lactation. Angry at the Supervisor, believing that only some last minute fluke kept her from exchanging places with Gwendolyn, Rigel was pretending to pour a glass before she realized the potential consequences.

She'd even prepared an admonishing speech.

Only even then, nothing made sense. She, like the others, had been shocked into a state of acceptance, ignoring what they knew. Violet Nall was the champion of her caste. In the rotations she'd spend under her leadership, Rigel had seen the Supervisor stare down countless men on behalf of their institution.

Rigel may not have been the most productive milk maid, but she did think outside the box. Suddenly it all made sense, after all these rotations, why would Violet Nall start abusing her staff to motivate them?

No, she had been testing out something else.

And now, everyone who tasted a drop of that milk forget the test.

"I'm sorry," Rigel said. "I mean, why was the girl masturbating?"

"That's not too surprising," Elara said. "I've seen it a few times when I've pulled a hucow off the line early. If they still have the muscle strength, they keep at their pussies, addicted to the climax. What's weird is that Gwendolyn did so poorly."

"Yeah, I thought the new girl was producing better than that."

Elara shrugged.

"There is a learning curve."

"Still, it's a bit of a shock to see the mistress take it out on the new recruit," Rigel said.

"There has been more pressure on everyone of late," Elara said. "The Overseer has been putting the men on double shifts more and more."

"Yes," Rigel said, no longer listening.

She was weighing her options.

One day, someone would have to replace Violet Nall as Supervisor. And that person would lead a longer, safer life.

8

"It's not enough..." Violet frowned.

"Are you sure?" Gwendolyn said, rubbing her aching nipples. "All we need is for each to swallow a few drops.

Violet sighed.

"There's the problem," She said studying the container of milk. "Imagine me asking the Overseer to swallow an eyedropper full of your milk. No, everything has to look exactly right."

"What can we do?" Gwendolyn said. "I don't know if I can squeeze out anymore."

"You may have reached your limit for a while," Violet said. "We wait, then try again."

"Can we save the rest?"

Violet shook her head.

"It will go sour in a few cycles. Some of the laborers may want it, but not the council."

"What about diluting it?"

"I AM diluting it. You can check my calculations, but if we want to make sure every member of the council gets at least a drop, we need at least 4 liters."

"And in the meantime, how many girls are going to be spaced?"

Violet shrugged.

"There's nothing we can do," She said.

"There might be..." Gwendolyn said slowly, barely able to realize what she was going to suggest.

"I think you know what you're going to say," Violet said. "The answer is no."

"The machines on the pasture can regulate hormones far better than here. Given the additional stimulation, I could produce the difference in less than a cycle's time."

"I think you're underestimating the risks. Shooting you up with all those drugs-"

"But we won't need the sedatives! I can start producing immediately."

"The health risks..." Violet started.

"Are minimal," Gwendolyn retorted. "A few stimulants afterwards, and I might not even miss a shift. What about the council?"

"It would be easy enough to explain," Violet said. "Should they even inquire. Preventing milk maids from producing more milk is hardly an issue. It does set a dangerous precedent, but should it succeed... well it's nothing we need to be worried about."

"So?"

Violet shook her head.

"I don't think you understand what you're asking..."

A silly thing to say to a milk maid.

"You know I do," Gwendolyn said.

And then Violet broke, her emotionless facade disappearing in an instant. Her eyes welled, her voice trembling as she tried to talk. She bit her lip, drawing the tiniest prick of blood. It was all she could do to control her voice as she stared at the ground.

"I can't. You're asking," The words were strangled. "You're asking me to torture you again..."

"I'm asking you to produce a little more milk," Gwendolyn said.

"It will be so much worse," Violet continued.

"I know."

"After I'm done," Violet said. "You won't want me anymore. To make that much milk, in such a short amount of time, you'll need to cum at least-"

"Don't tell me," Gwendolyn said, moving closer. "I want to be surprised."

"I can't..." Violet said. "I... need you."

"Miss Nall," Gwendolyn said. "Are we growing sentimental towards our livestock?

Violet let out a forced chortle.

Then their lips met.

8

Standing in her pasture, Gwendolyn's heart shot up to her throat.

One thing to make a bold promise, another to follow through with such an act. The clack of her heels echoed against the hallway, and she feared each step towards the pasture would be her last. The only thing propelling her forward was Violet's hand, gentle on her back, her breathing ragged.

Though her mistress managed to contain her emotions through decades of practice, the stark reality of what her forbidden lover needed to do created an anxiety almost worse than what Gwendolyn experienced.

It was a terror conditioned out through a lifetime of threats. And here she was, docilely walking into Pasture 13, a willing victim of her own idea. Though she knew it would be temporary, as they stopped in front of the empty stall 98, panic set in, an overwhelming sense of barely controlled distress.

Would this be her life? Caged like a hucow? Nozzles shoved into her holes, her mouth, her entire life devoted to pumping out milk as machines ravaged her mind with continual orgasms.

"I'll be right here," Violet said, nearly choking.

Gwendolyn tried to steady herself, to make herself brave.

"Don't... just don't leave," Gwendolyn said, her voice quaking. "Don't let me be up there alone, wondering where you are."

"I don't care if the Overseer hits the self-destruct button," Violet said, clasping her lover's hand. "I won't leave you up there."

"Okay," Gwendolyn said. "We can do this. It will be okay."

"One cycle, and we can control the colony," Violet said. "But Gwen, only if you say so. I- I won't do it if..."

Violet bit her lip. She started to say something more, only for the words to catch in her throat. For the first time in so many rotations, the Supervisor thought she might cry. And yet that control returned, telepathically willed into her being, preventing her from breaking down.

Her mind returned to what she was about to do.

To pump this many chemicals into a woman, natural and artificial, to force someone into this aberrant state of suspended satisfaction without slowly increasing the stimulation was completely unprecedented. Worse - the hormones these cows marinated in were designed to stunt the intellect, to create a docile beast.

No one had ever tried to bring someone back.

With her expertise, earned through decades of labor, Violet questioned whether Gwendolyn could truly understand what she was asking for. Given the best possible reaction - Violet would have to subject her lover to a form of sexual torment beyond what any hucow had ever experienced. She could have no drugs to relieve the pain; the milk could not be tainted, the pain and pleasure had to be borne without any respite.

Violet's mind raced with worst case scenarios. Despite her advancements, the brain remained a sensitive instrument, unknowable in many regards. And she was about to take this delicate machine and dose it in rocket fuel and electricity, hoping that the important functions of Gwendolyn would be retained.

The treatment Violet created could easily cause a psychotic break, shattering any real sense of sentience. The younger woman might emerge with no knowledge of herself, unable to speak or remember, in shock with post-traumatic issues and flashbacks. Any of these things could ruin her telepathic ability, making the entire ordeal worthless.

Despite her ability to calm herself, her shoulders started to shake, her jaw clenching. Even if she managed to use her instruments to keep Gwendolyn's sanity, the unknown part of her brain that allowed her to control minds might be damaged. How would someone, even with the Supervisor's understanding of milk production, know what to look for?

"Violet," Gwendolyn steadied herself.

"I can't..."

"Remember what you said to me," Gwendolyn said. "We can't let us get in the way of what has to be done."

Frightened as she was, with every centimeter of her skin prickled, her legs ready to bolt, something about the unsteady crack in her mentor's facade made Gwendolyn take up the mantle. She had a brief moment to dwell on the social nature of courage. Gallantry can only truly be claimed for another. After 40 rotations, beautiful as she looked, tenacious as she made herself, even Violet Nall would run out of time.

Gwendolyn wouldn't lose her. Not like that. Not without her fight.

"There's no other way," Gwendolyn said softly.

And Violet knew she was right.

She pulled off her uniform, folding it up and placing it next to her stall. Her breasts barely bounced as she moved towards, her nipples hardening in response to the cold artificial atmosphere. Stoically, she held up her wrists to the bars above her.

Gwendolyn held herself steady, barely breathing, completely still, presenting her body in a posture other hucows had to be herded into adopting. With an audible sigh, Violet went through the practiced motion of tightening the straps. She started on her wrists, then went to her ankles, suspending her lover in an upright position already agreed upon.

The bars of each stall were adjustable and periodically re-positioned, automatically changed to allow adequate blood flow. Gwendolyn wanted to remain upright as long as possible, to willingly accept her new role as producer. Violet started to gather the equipment, picking up the twin nozzles first, only to stop as her lover shook her head.

"Gag me," Gwendolyn said. "Put the hose in my mouth first."

"But..."

"Violet," She said softly.

Her first name was the closest thing she knew to a term of endearment. After years of Supervisor or Mistress Nall, she perked up every time she heard it, almost like her name had been erased by years of authority. Pet names, terms of endearment, even love, all had been forgotten in the cultivation of a callous culture designed only for survival.

"Violet, you know what the insertion is like," Gwendolyn said, trying to force every last drop of resolve into her voice. "I don't want you to hear me beg."

"You won't be able to tell me to stop..." Violet said.

Gwendolyn nodded.

"You can't stop," She said. "I never want to do this again."

"Okay," Violet said.

Slowly, she picked up the hose, looking her lover in the eyes. Gwendolyn nodded. Without sedation, there was no benign method; the meter long tube had to be showed deep down her throat. Gwendolyn gagged, her neck shaking, her stomach feeling as though she would vomit. Not that this would have mattered. The hose could vacuum up her sick as easily as it dispensed chemicals. Still, her throat refused to relax, and she began the first of many thrashes against her restraints before finally relaxing enough to accept the first invader.

Violet tried not to cry.

She grabbed dual nozzles, positioned perfectly for simultaneous insertion into a hucow's vaginal canal and anus. These were shorter than the hose in Gwendolyn's mouth, but not by much, and certainly longer and wider than the strap-on device Violet created.

The older woman couldn't bring herself to look at her lover as she methodically went through the routine. Already hormone chemicals were being pumped into the milk maid's body, increasing her milk yield and sex drive to unprecedented levels.

In her twenty rotations as an instructor to the milk maids, Mistress Nall had deliberately taught her pupils to avoid what she was about to do. The act of nursing can naturally provide sexual stimulation in a mother, not because of anything scandalous.

Providing milk can be a painful experience, and sexual arousal often relieves discomfort. For most hucows, a state of constant arousal served to stunt their mental resistance and to mute the agony of being constantly milked.

Through decades of trial and error, Violet knew that a milk maid could "squeeze-dry" a specimen by flooding their system with hormones and keeping the girl in a state of nearly continuous climax. The body would burn up quickly if kept like this for too long, and often the hucow would be rendered unable to produce enough milk in the long term. During periods of harvest fails and extreme shortages, she had been forced to use this technique on older hucows in order to meet quotas; but now she expressly forbade the practice.

She found it so distasteful, so cruel, that it had been nearly 8 rotations since any hucow had been squeezed-dried. And now, her lover, the one person she cared about on Epsilon 7, the girl who she risked everything on, asked her to commit this vile act.

Gwendolyn shuddered as the nozzle entered her vagina. Violet was quick, increasing the vibration to exert the maximum amount of pleasure. But there wasn't enough data on the readout to know exactly what would be her preference. She let out a soft cry through the bit, trying to keep herself still, to show Violet that everything was okay. And as she began to relax, it seemed like everything might be.

Then the nozzle entered her anus.

Her screams were muffled by the hose in her mouth. Her eyes darted around wildly, panic spreading across her entire body. Despite the lubricant secreting from the device, her hole burned, the pain incredible as her bare buttocks clenched down, trying to expel the invaders. Her wrists smacked against the restraints, her whole body involuntarily fighting against her willpower.

With a tear welling up in her eye, Violet busied herself on the v-screen, adjusting the vibrations frantically, trying to find the right number. She forced the reality of what she was doing out of her head, making herself calm, working through calculations as the muted moans rattled around in her head. Finally, she found the right match-up, or as close as she could get.

She moved closer to Gwendolyn, softly stroking her hair as she attached each suction cup to her hardened nipples. The cups nearly covered the entirety of her breasts. As Violet looked at her, she could see one of the reasons why Gwendolyn always looked so beautiful to her. Even like this, strapped up in a cage like one of the animals, her protege looked nothing like the rest of the livestock. Her eyes remained lucid, her mind sharp, her understated mammaries and tiny frame unlike any of the other women similarly caged.

And yet, here her favorite stood, suspended like a common cow. Gwendolyn's arms and legs were spread in a wide-x, her arms and legs violently spasming as the machines oscillated inside of her body. Despite the intensity, the pleasure center in her brain started to activate. Again she could feel a familiar sensation begin to take over. Just like her display in front of her peers, the intensity of the stimulation overwhelmed every recess of her mind.

Again, the milk started to flow, streaming out of her pale cups, dribbling down the twin tubes like a creamy waterfall. Her body spasmed, yanking back and forth against her restraints. Violet could only watch as the machine continued its low murmur, reverberating heinously, the hard plastisteel hoses pistoning up and down inside of her friend.

This was more than the simple machine used to extract a minimal amount of milk. Gwendolyn's mind soaked in a bath of estrogen and testosterone. Her milk ducts seemed like they might burst, flooding out a veritable creamy river in comparison to what came before. Her hips buckled, almost collapsing, only to be held in place against the stolid bars and straps.

The sensation became overwhelming, much as Gwendolyn tried to fight it, having a proper sense of dread at what would happen to her without a refractory period. But the pulsing penis-like things inside of her offered no respite. They combined together to feel as though one tremendous oblong object forcing its way into her all at once. Overwhelming, overpowering, overstimulation, yet creating in her a new sense of satisfaction, an unparalleled craving for this new type of climax.

Her rational mind shut off, no longer able to function against the frantic misfiring of each neuron. Gwendolyn threw herself down on the device, rubbing her ass against the wall as she aided in her own abuse. Her head arched back as much as it could with the nozzle lodged deep down her throat.

She let out a muffled scream.

The climax raged through her, climbing up and out every extremity. Her toes, her fingers, every extension of her tingling and curling, flexing and unflexing. Her pussy shook with pleasure, riding the machine that immobilized her. Her hips rocked back and forth, clanging against the wall in a fever-pitch of orgasmic bliss. Gwendolyn's head swam, nearly drowning in a never ending ecstasy.

It didn't stop.

Her pussy, her asshole, clenched and unclenched, bearing down, expecting the usual result. Only the climax didn't stop; suspended like her fragile body, forced to continue past the point of pleasure. Her clitoris ached, throbbing, pounding, and yet another part of her continued to derive the same sensation of pleasure without the finality of satisfaction.

It was torture, almost as if plummetting from an impossible height, the sensation similiar to that rising pressure from the naval to the heart. The pit of her stomach climbed into her throat. If she could have opened her mouth, she would have screamed and begged for Violet to make it stop.