Chapters The Book of Milk Chapter 22
Emerging into the open, Puffycunt heard a large number of people all around her “oohing” and “aahing” as well as clapping, although she couldn’t see them in the blurry distance. Puffycunt blushed deeply while at the same time, pushing her dripping udders and round ass out for everyone to see. It was so reflexive at this point that it felt to Puffycunt as if they presented themselves, which at their current size was about right.
Owner walked with her in a wide circle so everyone could see her, then he returned to the middle of the large open space and someone handed him a headset with which he started to speak to the audience:
“Ladies and gentlemen, fellow bodymod enthusiasts, connoisseurs, Anything customers, esteemed colleagues. For the few who don’t know me, my name is [OWNER], I’m a project manager in-the-field with the Company, and I’m here to present ‘Puffycunt’, one of the prime cows in my herd!” The mention of her name led to catcalls, laughing, and clapping, which made Puffycunt swell with pride and joy.
”As you can see, she is fully bovinized, and yields up to 12 quarts of fresh milk daily! Thanks to the newest generation of the Anything Implant, her mental faculties fully reflect her physical attributes, which is all the more astounding since she has only been a cow for 8 weeks. Cheers to the central office for that golden nugget, I don’t know anyone who doesn’t use it on their projects these days.”
Owner said this all matter-of-factly, but incredulous whispering and scattered clapping from the audience followed each remark.
“If you have any doubts in the power of the Anything Implant, any reservations after the BrainCrash crisis five years ago now, the following demonstration will certainly assuage them. Just before her training began — the training we now know the human brain sorely needs to cope with our boundary-pushing design requirements — the Implant made a backup copy of her complete mental layout, which I will reactivate now.”
Owner strode towards Puffycunt and got in close, close enough she could feel his breath, smell his sweet manly musk. She wanted to moo again but he got in the first word.
“Puffycunt, load routine ‘second chance.’ Let’s say hi to Sandra, shall we?”
Puffycunt, who had only vaguely understood what Owner had been talking about from the get go, suddenly felt her world shatter inside her mind as a heavy veil, a weight on her brain, lifted and understanding bloomed. “Dis kow… I… is… am… Puffycunt… no.. Sandra… oh… oh god… I… I… remember… I remember everything!” A tide of memories flooded her mind, pulling her consciousness from her present situation into the past. Her mind latched onto one particular memory, though, and suddenly it presented itself with absolute clarity.
Sandra was walking across her university campus. A light breeze was blowing through her long auburn locks and she used her right hand to brush some strands that had fallen into her face back behind her ear for the millionth time. With her other hand, she straightened her backpack which was slung over her shoulder and continued on her way. For a split second, this picture changed like one TV program overlapping another, and there was a strange naked creature without arms in Sandra’s stead there, but it was gone again in the blink of an eye. As she looked up, she noticed the large white van for the first time, a small group of students huddled by the folding tables set out behind its open doors. On its side, large green letters told her that it belonged to “Anything, Co. Research & Development”.
Intrigued, she walked towards it at the perfect time, just as the line dispersed. The back of the van was open and Sandra could see that it contained a small laboratory, and the tables had signage and print materials on… something medical-looking. A man in a lab coat greeted her as he saw her approach the vehicle. (He also told Sandra his name, but she had forgotten it almost immediately, never having been good with names.) He was a doctor and explained to her that his company was looking for detailed genetic information on suitable women and would of course disburse such candidates for it. “Let me put it this way:” he said, smiling like he was giddy to lend only her his secret. “If you are chosen, you will never have to worry about your future again. That much I can safely promise.”
Shyly, she asked for more details, but he told her that she could only learn more once she was chosen, since it was delicate research that his company didn’t want to be leaked to a competitor in the field. “This is why I come to universities like this. You all understand how important ethics and research privacy issues are.”
Sandra nodded along. At least he told her that his area of expertise was milk, specifically the inability of a growing percentage of humans to digest cow’s milk. He was working on a way to produce large quantities of milk that would be completely compatible with the human digestive system.
Sandra was intrigued by this. Although she normally wouldn’t have done this, she thought “I’ve got nothing to lose!” and asked “What can I do to help?”, which made the man smile again.
“Oh, for starters, we just have to take a small sample of your blood and ask you a series of questions. We’ll give you 50 dollars for your trouble. Then, we need your contact details in case your test results look promising for the next step.”
After one of the lab technicians had taken a small sample of her blood, she sat down with the doctor at a small table inside the cramped van. He asked her questions while making notes and checking boxes on a medical clipboard. First, he asked her about her measurements, general health, and chronic illnesses in her family. So far, so ordinary. As the session went on, however, the questions got more and more personal. When did she have her first period? When did her breasts start to develop? When did she first masturbate? How often did she have sex now? She answered those questions shyly, blushing a deep red and looking down on her hands, but the clinical detachment of the doctor and the prospect of the 50 dollars made her push through, despite her intense feeling of humiliation at telling a stranger such intimate details about herself.
Finally, the questionnaire was finished and she took the money with sweaty hands, still not able to look the doctor in the eyes. He didn’t seem fazed however and just wished her a nice day. As she left the van, the next girl was already entering after her, having been enticed by the deal.
Sandra’s memory jumped forward in the tangled mess of her head.
She had almost forgotten about the incident about a week later, walking home from class after dark. There weren’t any people on the street, which was in a generally poor section of the city, since Sandra couldn’t afford anything fancy. As she rounded a corner, she suddenly saw the white van again. It’s back doors were open and she could see the lab, but there was nobody there, and what’s stranger still, the signage was gone, the van was totally unmarked. Yet no other van had a setup like this inside.
“Hello?” she called out and tiptoed closer to the open doors. As she peeked inside, she suddenly heard the shuffle of feet behind her. Then she felt a tiny prick on her neck. As she turned around, she saw a man with a syringe grab on to her arm as she slipped, and the doctor behind him, smiling at her.
“Congratulations,” he said. “You have been chosen.”