Chapter Text
Tim keeps looking toward the other calves. He tries to make eye-contact with them but it’s more difficult than he would have thought.
One of them looks simply scared out of his mind. He’s already looking like a full-blown cow, horns and tail and everything, but his face is pale and sweaty and he looks ready to faint at any second, just keeping to himself and staring at the floor while his fucking machine is doing its work at a sedate pace.
Like their captors are trying to take it easy on him.
The other calf is… well, Tim hasn’t seen her before. She is weirdly buff and looks positively bored, albeit mulish. She has horns, but they must be very fresh because the skin surrounding the base is swollen and inflamed looking and there are still thin tubes attached to the area that allow the fluid build-up from the wounds to drain.
Tim makes soft sounds at her, trying to encourage her to look toward him, but she only does once and her flat-eyed gaze slides off of him without sticking. There is something odd about her that has Tim breaking out in goosebumps that have nothing to do with the contraption he’s been locked into.
He’s curled up tight and fixed inside some kind of… box that does not let him move his legs or arms much. The claustrophobic feeling is bad enough even without the wide cock Ned had forced into him, taking up space and not budging an inch, no matter how hard Tim tries to clench down and force it back out.
The other two calves are not in boxes. They have their customary fucking machines and Tim is jealous. He wants out of the box more so than he wants the muzzle from his mouth.
He’s only been able to say a handful of sentences to the other calves, trying to find out pretty much any type of information they could get him before Milk Man had stepped toward him with a smile that couldn’t quite hide the irritation on his face, and a strappy little mask.
“That won’t do,” Milk Man had crooned at him, holding his nose closed until Tim had been forced to open his mouth for the small cock-shaped gag being slid between his teeth and settling heavily on his tongue, keeping him from talking further. “This is supposed to be a meditation session,” he said in a stage whisper once he carefully secured the clasps of the gag. “You are utterly too loud, my dear. You need to relax. You need to calm down. Your little deprivation box feels good, doesn’t it?”
No.
“It’ll help you focus just on yourself.”
No!
“You just sit tight, enjoy the perfectly natural feeling of being filled, and let me do my work, yes?”
No! No! No!
But no matter his angry grunts or furious glares, Milk Man just smiled at him serenely and patted him on the head before walking off to finish the last few preparations.
Even before they start this… meditation session, the somewhat-quiet is interrupted by the scared calf suddenly whining out sharp and high-pitched.
Tim glances over to see him rutting between his fucking machine and thin fucking air, an orgasm crashing through him. His cum hits the tiled ground with an obscenely loud splattering sound.
Tim finds himself squirming in the boy he’s put in, his hands twisting, bound together in the small of his back. He does not want to get turned on, but it is getting increasingly harder to fight his stupid body’s stupid needs when he is constantly getting filled, constantly getting stimulated. Constantly bombarded with the whimpery sounds of his fellow inmates succumbing to their captors’ wills.
The other calf is wheezing; the way he acts it seems like the orgasm legitimately knocked some screws loose or something. He’s cross-eyed, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and for the first time since Tim had gotten into this room with them, the other doesn’t look terrified out of his mind.
In fact, he looks positively elated, color returning to his cheeks and his body relaxing into a boneless heap atop the fucking machine he’s strapped into. There’s drool dripping from the tip of his tongue like cum is still dripping from his swollen cock.
And as if Milk Man had been watching and just waiting for the opportunity – he probably had, the sick fuck – he suddenly comes back and has the audacity to look surprised.
“Oh dear,” he says, a huge grin quickly overtaking his face. He hurries toward the nameless calf (and Tim hates that they are still nameless for him; he wants to know everything about them; wants to make sure someone remembers who they were for them) and reaches out with both hands.
They’re so gentle as they handle the calf’s face; holding his head and brushing fingertips lovingly along the seam between his horns and skull. The calf groans softly. It sounds like the low of a cow and has goosebumps rising all over Tim’s body. He squirms harder, heart pounding faster as the need to move and get out of the crate peaks for a moment so sky high that he feels like he’s careening right back into a panic attack.
He’s never been on a milk farm before, but the soft sound of that moo is sending him into flashbacks of his own mother. It’s all good feelings; until they aren’t, overwhelming him with homesickness.
Tim clenches his eyes shut and turns his head away. The picture of the calf turning his head into Milk Man’s hands, seeking that warmth and reassurance is branded into the forefront of his mind.
“You’re such a good cow,” he hears Milk Man’s calm, collected voice. He hates how soothing it is. He hates how his muscles relax even though he’s not the one getting praised. He hates how his hole clenches deliriously and needy around the massive silicone cock Ned somehow fit into him and makes his stomach feel like it’s bulging against the tops of his thighs as he’s folded into a jackknife position.
“You’re being so good for me,” Milk Man continues in that same, low croon that creeps right underneath Tim’s voice. “Coming just like that. You’ve gotten so sensitive. You see how good it feels? And this is just with our limited resources. You will be so happy on your farm. I’ve looked up a facility that will be perfect for you. They’ll be able to pump you full of all the warm, thick seed that you need.”
Tim starts to drool around the cock shaped gag. He opens his eyes a little, blearily staring at the floor. He tries to shake himself out of it; out of imagining that Milk Man is talking to him.
But it’s so damn hard, and the calf keeps mooing hoarse and content and it’s all fucking with his head before they even started meditating.
Milk Man’s voice becomes even softer. He’s only whispering toward the nameless cow; a few gentle parting words before he gets back up on his legs and moves toward a chair he put in the middle of their tiny circle.
Tim glances over toward the calf. He is still hanging in the machine and looking bleary, though with every slow blink, he seems to slowly be coming back into himself; and what Tim sees fills him with dread.
It’s sad, exhausted acceptance.