StripSearch

Thank you Zee, CarlBradford, Eroticstoryspinner, Avicia, and Mister Smith for your editing and input.

Trigger Warning: Slavery, Dark Shit, Pregnancy Related Shit, And People getting milked.
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This had to be a bad dream, this couldn’t be real. I was going to wake up holding Jessica in her soft bed and realize what just happened was in my head. Nope. Instead I was woken up by an overseer walking up and down the aisles of the dormitory ringing a loud bell while yelling, “Come on ladies, you know the drill. Get up, go pee, puke your brains out and get ready for inspection”.

I could still feel the crust from my tears last night on my face as I opened my eyes just in time to see Fatima puking in a bucket right across from me. I didn’t know when morning sickness was supposed to start, but I was not looking forward to it if I were actually pregnant. To be honest, I didn’t even know what would happen to me beyond me getting bloated and sick all the time until the baby came out and I potentially ended up hooked to a milking machine. It also didn’t help that when I was younger my mother was such a big fan of Jesus that she opted me out of the sex ed classes where I would’ve learned the basics of these things. Instead I got some church lady showing us gross pictures of pregnant women and telling us not to have sex until marriage while we read some sheet telling us birth control and condoms didn’t work. I loved my mother, but over the years her religious devotion screwed me over a few times.

For some reason though I couldn’t stop staring at Fatima as she was puking. She saw this and groggily said, “I don’t know why you’re staring at me new girl, but it’s kinda weird. What do you want?”

I embarrassingly asked her “When do I start getting sick all the time?”

I expected her to be dismissive, but my question seemed to put her at ease as she sat down next to me and said, “You have about a month and a half before shit starts getting real. Then you’re gonna be sick, tired, and sore all the time no matter what you do for months until it goes away for a while and that gets replaced by more shitty side effects. We don’t have time now, but I’ll answer some questions after you come back from work.”

I had no idea how I was supposed to work all day in a factory while I was tired and puking all the time, but judging by what I saw yesterday the place looked like it was set up with these limitations in mind.

Then, sensing Fatima wished to be left alone, I took off my wrap and made my way to the bathroom with my hygiene kit. The showers weren’t horrible, and we were even given warm water to take our showers with. Same with the toilets, with the pregnant slaves getting nicer seats compared to the slaves living in the other barracks according to the other slaves. Afterward, we all quickly made our way back to our beds for inspection.

I assumed it was going to be like the spot inspections at Mercer, but to my surprise it mas mostly the doctors going around asking these women if they noticed anything wrong while doing a quick exam of the ones who were farther along. If their example was anything to follow, I was supposed to give details to these people on how I was feeling no matter how embarrassing or gross it was.

Then it was my turn and the doctor said to me while handing me a small book, “Alright 27S, I don’t need to examine you yet, but here’s a book that should help you understand what is going to happen as you get farther along. If there is anything wrong in the future, you need to tell us. Do you understand?”

I nodded and the doctor handed me a paper cup full of vitamins and kept making his way down the line. According to Fatima I wasn’t officially pregnant until I got my blood test in a week or so, but these doctors didn’t care and were treating me like I was anyway.

While the doctors were doing their work, the slaves taking care of us did theirs. A slave pushing a cart full of uniforms was handing out our brown scrubs, while another was on the other end of the barracks handing out our breakfast. The scrubs were made out of the same material as Miss O’Connor’s hospital scrubs, and were relatively comfortable. Breakfast was basic as well, consisting of slave loaf, whole milk, and an egg on a metal plate. I was finally able to choke down my vitamins as I ate this overcooked egg and made my slave loaf “oatmeal”. Compared to what I was just eating yesterday morning, this shit was tasteless. At the same time however it filled me up and was supposed to have everything I needed for me and the baby. I didn’t have long to enjoy my food though. It was time for work.

It was one thing seeing how monotonous working in this factory was on a tour. Once I was actually working there myself, I could understand why these women looked so empty inside while they were working here. My job, for example, was to use a piping bag made for frosting to put face cream in jars on a tray for 11 hours. It was another slave’s job to collect the completed trays, and another’s job to bring me fresh trays of empty jars. My only responsibility apart from filling these jars was to fill up my piping bag from the dispenser that “whipped” the product for us in center of the room when it was empty. Overall, it was messy and boring work that could’ve been done by machines and much fewer slaves if this shit wasn’t labeled “handmade” and “small batch”. To me, it all just seemed like busy work designed to keep a bunch of hormonal women from getting too depressed.

We did get a short break to eat lunch in the afternoon though, and everything was set up to accommodate the constant bathroom and morning sickness breaks the others were taking. When we were at our stations though, the overseers kept us on a brisk pace and weren’t afraid to give us a warning shock from our collars if they thought we were slacking off. I didn’t understand why it was acceptable to use a shock collar on pregnant women, but after my first shock I realized that these collars were no more powerful than the training collar Miss O’Connor used on me when I was first purchased. They just looked scarier than they were, even though it didn’t feel that way when that jolt hit me out of nowhere.

The monotony gave way to muscle memory after a few hours, and it gave me some time to think a few things over. I was analyzing what happened yesterday in my head for any sign that my “accidental” insemination was just part of Miss O’Connor’s act. It seemed like she was genuinely surprised and angry, but for all I knew she was a better actress than I thought. Then, it was lunchtime. It was only slave loaf, a fruit cup, and some milk, but getting a mid-day meal was better than a lot of slaves received and I appreciated that I wouldn’t go hungry all day like those field slaves I had seen a few days ago. We only got 15 minutes to eat and rest though, so I hurried through my meal and was right back to work like my break never even happened.

The rest of our day dragged on, and by the time we were done cleaning our stations at the end I was mentally exhausted and wearing a good amount of dried product on my scrubs and apron. I guess this was half of why we only had wraps to wear in the barracks. This place destroyed our daily change of clothes so bad that they must’ve violated some health standard that needed to be maintained, and keeping us nearly naked in our quarters was cheaper and easier than paying for us to wear two changes of clothes a day. I didn’t have much time to relax that night though, as Fatima was committed to going through the book I got that morning. This woman obviously needed something to do while she was on bed rest, and I was her project I guess. So, while we sat on my bed eating dinner I got to learn all the fun details of what she called my first trimester.

When she asked me if I had any questions I sheepishly asked her, “When do I start looking like you?”

I thought she was going to get offended, but she held my hand and reassuringly said, “Honey, I’m on my fourteenth pregnancy and I’ve been doing this since I was 20 years old. You’re gonna get big and bloated every time, but it takes a long time to get like me. After your first couple you won’t even notice how you look anymore. It’s all just gonna be routine”.

It freaked me out that someone could even have that many kids year after year. No wonder she told me to give up within a few minutes of meeting me. At the same time I realized that Fatima was a professional compared to me, so maybe she knew something I didn’t about all this and I needed to listen to her. Either way only time would tell whether I was leaving here soon, in nine months, or years from now.

In the meantime, my days continued as “normal” for a breeder until one night a little over a week later. I had no idea why one of the doctors was taking me out of the barracks this late, but I didn’t question it too much as I was led into an exam room and had some blood drawn from my arm. I wasn’t bound or anything like before, but I was scared to do anything but sit on the table until that same doctor came back half an hour later and handed me a thin looking robe to wear and took me out of the room to find Miss O’Connor and Jessica sitting there in the waiting room. I was surprised to see them, and practically ran over to them not even caring that I wasn’t supposed to do that as a slave.

That predictably got me a warning shock as Miss O’Connor sternly said, “Sit down Anna. We need to talk, and you need to listen very carefully to what I have to say before you start freaking out and crying”.

This situation didn’t feel good at all.

Then, after I sat down across the coffee table from her, Miss O’Connor said, “Well Anna, I have good news and bad news for you. The bad news is that you are actually pregnant. You’re still gonna stay here until the baby comes, but I swear on my father’s grave that I will come back to get you and I will make this up to you. I shouldn’t have played games with your body like this to teach you a lesson, and I’m sorry for doing this to you. The good news is that your baby won’t be born a slave now. My sister-in-law Andrea(Mistress Robins from the warehouse) and her wife wanted a baby, and are willing to take the child so it has a better life.”

This was 100% real now and I had to rely on the word of someone who lied to me to teach me a lesson I didn’t need to learn, that I wouldn’t spend 14 years here like Fatima. I could pretend for the past week that it was just an act to screw with me, but now it was real and I was having this kid whether I liked it or not. After it hit me, I just ended up crying and swearing at Miss O’Connor without even caring that it would most likely get me punished.

Surprisingly, just as the doctor was about to shock me, Miss O’Connor stopped it from happening and said to the doctor in a defeated sounding tone, “I deserve this. Just let her have this one”.

I could see the regret on her face and this wasn’t an act, she looked genuinely guilty over this and for some reason that was enough to get me to stop being as upset at her.

I was still crying, but Jessica distracted me by pointing to a wrapped up plate on the table and said, “Here’s a plate from Christmas Dinner. I know it’s a little late but uncle Ethan was being a dick about me saving it for you and I had to wait a couple of days for him to let me bring it over”.

Even if I was pissed at Miss O’Connor, I still wanted to come back after all this to serve Jessica. She tried saving me from this situation and earned my loyalty through more than me simply being her slave when she graduated. Also I was going to miss her ability to find that perfect spot when we were in bed together. It my have been perverted to get hung up on that, but a woman has needs and Jessica always made sure I was well taken care of when she used me. She was sweet, and I made sure to thank her for bringing me a plate.

It was a bit cold in spots, and the cookies tasted a little stale, but this plate was ten times better than the slave loaf and milk that was making up most of my diet now.

When I was almost done Miss O’Connor stopped me for a second and softly said, “After this you’re not gonna hear from us for a while. Ethan doesn’t want you getting special treatment because it’s not fair to the other slaves you’re with, and as much as I would love to set up a call with you every week, I’m not allowed to contact you until the baby comes”

I asked her why I couldn’t just have the baby in Pennsylvania and she said bluntly, “Anna, pregnancy is fucking scary sometimes. When I was having Michael, I almost lost him twice. When Edna was having Martin, she spent the last month before he came bedridden because of complications. I see pregnant women having the worst day of their lives at the hospital every week and get to see their faces when they find out they miscarried. I just don’t want to see anything happen to you or the baby, and since you’re surrounded by doctors and nurses here, this is somehow the safest place I can think of for you”.

I started to cry again, and she squeezed my hand while warmly saying, “Honey, this place isn’t the nicest. I get it. But my brother is letting me keep you here for free, and you have 60 other women back there who know what you’re going through and can help you cope with this so much better than we could at home. Just be a good slave and do what you’re told, and you’ll be fine”.

She actually thought she was helping by leaving me here. We both saw the same factory, barracks, and sad pregnant women, but this was apparently the safest place in her paranoid mind. She wasn’t 100% wrong when she mentioned being surrounded by doctors 24/7. We even had a panic button on the wall next to our beds in case of an emergency, but I would’ve rather risked that one in a thousand complication if it meant that I could sleep in my own room and eat something tastier than the carefully controlled diet the slaves here were given. At least her heart was in the right place, even though she was making the stupidest decision ever.

Let me rephrase that, the second stupidest decision ever. The first place was still held by her plan that looked like it came from one of her slave erotica novels that she loved to read. Now that I think about it, I most likely had the exact book she got the idea from in my room back in Pennsylvania.

I couldn’t enjoy their company for much longer however, and was soon taken back to my dormitory. Fatima was still awake and as I was getting into bed she smiled and said, “So new girl, you’re pregnant for real now. I can see it on your face. We’ll see in nine months if your owner isn’t a piece of shit, but for now it’s best to just focus on that thing inside you and forget about her.”

I didn’t tell her about getting to see them, but I assumed she already knew as the turkey from my dinner put me to sleep. I was hoping that Miss O’Connor was a woman of her word as I attempted to fall asleep and think about anything other than spending nine months in this place.

The next few months weren’t fun. My morning sickness started a couple of weeks earlier than the book said it would, and some mornings I couldn’t even get out of bed because of how tired I was. I was still expected to work though, so I somehow fought through all the misery and did my work to the best of my ability. Luckily the overseers were able to tell the difference between sick and lazy, so I avoided getting shocked most of the time. I also started having stereotypical pregnant lady cravings, and none of them were for slave loaf, cheap fruit, or milk. At first it was torture not being able to satisfy them, but eventually my brain realized an endless supply of peanut butter and salty stuff wasn't coming so they mostly went away. It was still nice to get what little snacks I could though, even if they were a rare treat most of the time.

To be honest, just my first trimester made me question why my mother or Miss O’Connor willingly went through this. It was probably easier for a free woman though, since they got access to birthing classes, their own beds, and other things I didn’t get. Compared to that, all slaves got was medical exams, vitamins, and a book that looked like it was written for a high school health class based on how simple the information was. I still had Fatima to help me through the first month or two though, at least until it was her turn to give birth and get hooked up to the milking machines. I was gonna miss her, even if she spent half of our time together reminding me that I wasn’t leaving this farm for a very long time.

Eventually another breeder, Eve, took Fatima’s bed. She was a little older than me and on her third pregnancy. Eve even had the “honor” of being the only Dutch/German born breeder in the compound, which made her a hot commodity around there for some of the gay couples needing an egg to inseminate. She wasn’t too bad of a roommate, but a couple of the overseers liked her, so I occasionally got woken up by her moans. Other than that, she was just as helpful as Fatima, minus all the “reality” that Fatima liked to tell me.

Then another change hit me as I entered my second trimester and started to show a little while after that. At first, I viewed all these other pregnant women and myself as disgusting, but as time passed by I could see the beauty of it all. I didn’t know if it was my hormones or just me getting used to them, but some of these women had a glow to them that I couldn’t explain and a beauty that I could never see before. It was like carrying a life gave them this sexiness that was irresistible to look at, especially when we were all stuck in there with everything on display.

I also learned something valuable, pregnancy sex is awesome. The doctors even encouraged us to masturbate for some medical reason I couldn’t understand. Despite this permissive atmosphere, we weren’t supposed to hook up with each other. We still did here and there, but most of the time it was just too much of a hassle to sneak off in the middle of the night when we were all too tired to even try.

Master Walsh did treat our barracks like a harem however. It was usually him, his family, his employees, or his friends coming there after we just got off work to pick one of us out. He would even bring some of his higher ranking slaves there as a reward for their hard work and loyalty. Sometimes we were lined up like sex slaves and picked out by members of the group, and other times it would just be a lone overseer waking me up from a nap and having me get on all fours while he did his thing. I didn’t like it at first, but after the first few times I realized how good it felt and learned to enjoy those little distractions from my circumstances. Luckily most of the men were gentle with us and even the overseers that routinely used us made sure we were comfortable. After a while I was even able to ignore Eve getting fucked to an audible orgasm a few feet away from me and sleep through some of the more boring sexual encounters I had to endure.

Some of those men occasionally even brought us snacks that we weren’t supposed to have as “payment” for the good time. I felt ashamed later in life, but at the time sucking a ranch slave’s dick for a pack of peanut butter cups or a small bag or chips was a pretty good trade considering how strictly controlled our diets were. You wouldn’t think that candy and chips would be a black market, but every night there were slaves meeting in the bathroom to”illicitly” exchange snacks after the doctors did their nightly rounds. Luckily the overseers in charge of the barracks didn’t really care about the junk food, as long as we hid it from medical and weren’t stupid enough to eat it if we had Gestational Diabetes, and even made a point to give it back to us later on after medical made them “throw it away”. It was always hilarious seeing a doctor freak out over me having a fun sized candy bar under my blanket and take it away, only for me to find it under my pillow as soon as I came back from work.

I liked those overseers. They understood that it took more than a TV and some comfortable beds to keep us distracted from how shitty being forced to have a kid was, and a few of them even brought in a fresh box of books the local library was going to throw out every month. They were usually trashy romance novels or some other cheap paperback, but every once in a while we’d get lucky and find a good fantasy novel or a Carl Bradford book that’s only flaw was a few sticky pages courtesy of the last bored housewife to check it out. We only had two hours of TV time every day before we had to go to our dorms and bed down for the night, but thanks to these books we could spend all night escaping this place. You could even see it on their faces as imagination took over and instead of being a slave on their tenth pregnancy, they were the heroine in that ragged paperback they hid under their pillow like it was their most prized possession.

For me, my favorites were anything that made me think. I was not gonna let my already pregnancy brain addled mind turn into mud from all the boredom. My other, more guilty, favorites were those slave erotica novels written by Carl Bradford or Joe Doe. At first, it seemed wrong to read books that fetishize slavery when I was, well… an actual slave, but after Miss O’Connor convinced me to give them a try after I was allowed to borrow from her little library in the living room I was hooked for some reason. I wasn’t unique in my love for these books either. The other women there loved them too and routinely traded the best books around the barracks. Some of the pages were a little stained sometimes, but fantasizing about being the pleasure slaves in those books, slaves who actually got their happily ever after most of the time, was a great distraction from the reality of our situation. It also helped to have something else to work with besides imagining other pregnant women and ranch slaves that lasted three minutes in bed when we were enjoying ourselves.

Then one night in my third trimester, I met someone. The lights were dimmed in the barracks for the night around 8PM when I heard the door open and some loud voices come into our side. I ignored it and fell back asleep. It was just some guys there for some ass, if they wanted me I would know soon enough. Then I woke up to a tall, dark, and muscular man wearing a tank top and work jeans standing over me. He wasn’t too bad looking, but I could see how confused he was while he just stared at me for a moment.

He sheepishly said, “I’m sorry for waking you miss, I don’t normally get to come here for this type of thing and was told to go to your bed. Do you want me to give you a minute to get ready?”

I nodded and he took off his pants while I got my blanket out of the way and struggled to put myself on all fours for this man. He even made the effort to help me get into slave position when I was having a little trouble. I was getting too far along for this type of shit, but he seemed nice enough so I was gonna try with him at least. He was quiet too, Eve wasn’t even woken up by this idiot as he stumbled when he tried to get on the bed to mount me.

I could tell he was having trouble getting it in me comfortably, so I quietly said, “Let me get on my back and this should be easier for you”.

It was odd being face to face with the man using me for once and it seemed just as awkward for him as well as we looked each other in the eyes while he rhythmically pumped in and out of me like a machine until I was brought to a halfway decent orgasm. It honestly felt good as I was able to work with the rhythm and maneuver myself into a comfortable position that had him hitting me just right. I do feel bad for getting a little too excited though, as I accidentally woke up Eve and my neighbor on the other side of the wall with my moans. Oops.

I liked the respect he showed me, and the gentleness with which he handled me as he finally finished inside of me. He was still awkward though, and even apologized for cumming inside of me like he did something wrong. It was cute compared to what I was used to, and honestly looked forward to seeing him again if he was going to use me like this. That being said, I was tired and wanted to get back to sleep before I had to get up for work in the morning. Shitty jars of face cream weren’t going to fill themselves.

Then for some reason he felt the need to sit on the bed next to me and rub my shoulders a bit while making sure I was ok. I was still wondering why he was being so weird and then I saw his wrist. He was a slave, and I was his reward from his master. In the end he couldn’t say no to his reward as much as I couldn’t say no to him, and I could tell by his voice that he thought having sex with me in my current condition was a little wrong. Now that I knew that he was a slave, and had a conscience, I wanted to get to know him a little bit while he was here in the hopes of getting some future snacks if he ever came here again. It seems selfish in retrospect to use a fellow slave like that, but I wanted peanut butter cups and this was still the only way we got the good snacks.

I introduced myself, and then he introduced himself as Martin. Was this the Martin I was thinking of?

I asked him, “Do you know anyone named Edna or Earl?”

His eyes lit up in the dark room as he quietly exclaimed, “Those are my parents. Wait… you’re that Anna?”

I nodded while smiling and whispered in his ear, “Can you have your parents pass on a message for me?”

He nodded and I quietly said, “Have them tell Miss O’Connor that I’m doing well, and I hope she doesn’t forget about me. And have them tell Jessica and Michael that I miss them too.”

He nodded in acknowledgement and quietly responded, “My call is in a couple days, I promise I wont forget to tell them.” Afterward, he left and I took the opportunity to go get cleaned up.

He was as much of a gentleman as Earl described, and now I got to experience that for myself. If I ever got back to Philadelphia, I needed to tell them the very censored version of what just happened. They would be proud. I was a touch nervous though. It was a risk trying to pass a message to Miss O’Connor when her brother didn’t allow her any contact with me, but at the same time I hoped hearing from me would jog her memory and get her here before I had suction tubes hooked up to my nipples and another baby inside me a few months later.

A few weeks after this meeting, I still had no idea if my message got delivered. By this point, I didn’t even care since I was so far along I had bigger problems to deal with. The morning sickness and hormone issues were long gone, but just as Fatima had told me, they would get replaced with something worse. Eventually, I was put on permanent bed rest due to all the pain I was in and the closest thing to work I could do now was to have my colostrum harvested four times a day by a nurse. It was uncomfortable having a gloved hand squeeze the thick drops out of me, but apparently, this stuff literally jump-starts a baby’s immune system so I happily let this woman take as much as she needed for the freezer. I just wanted the child to have a good start now.

It was weird caring so much about the unborn child inside of me, especially since I literally told the doctors it was a parasite for the first four months I was here. But then as the months passed, and I got to see it on the sonogram it grew on me—emotionally as well as literally. I even got excited when I could feel it move and kick me while I was at work. It wasn’t pleasant to have this thing inside me against my will, but I finally realized what Miss O’Connor meant that night after Christmas when she left me here. It was magical having a little person growing inside of me, even if it did give me horrible heartburn and make me have to pee a million times a day. She was also right about how dangerous it was as well. I got lucky, and only had minor complications, but they still scared me no matter how many times the doctors told me it wasn’t a big deal. I may not have had a real health class, but even I knew having a kid at my age was risky.

Then one day it was time. The contractions had been killing me for weeks up to that point, and then it hit me. These ones were more intense and frequent than anything I’ve ever felt before, and I before I even realized what was happening Eve went from puking in her bucket to hitting the panic button and attempting to talk me through what was happening. A few other slaves hanging around their dorms noticed too and before the doctors got there a few minutes later I had three other slaves trying to keep me comfortable. By this point I was freaking out and panicking as the doctors took me away to medical.

What followed was 14 hours of hell. Slaves didn’t usually get the luxury of epidurals or C-sections and, since Master Walsh advertised 100% natural births, we weren’t getting either of those anyway. No amount of comfort in the spartan delivery room could help me at that point, this thing just needed to be out of me and I needed to keep myself comfortable while I was waiting. Luckily one of the nurses took off the shock collar and stayed with me the whole time, even after her shift was over.

Eventually the little parasite decided it was ready to come out and I got to experience the true pain of childbirth. The book said that my body would release drugs to dull the pain, but that book had to be full of shit or I had to be in worse pain than I thought as I pushed out what felt like a fucking bowling ball. Unlike a free woman though, I was in this alone. I didn’t even have the father to scream at while the nurses and doctors were the only support I had in the room. After a couple more pushes though, it was out and I had just given birth to a healthy baby boy. I was still in horrible pain and had to deal with gross afterbirth, but I was proud of myself for some reason. It almost felt like my head was in the clouds as the nurse took him away. I even got lucky and Andrea (Mistress Robins from the warehouse) let me hold and feed the baby until they arrived in a day or two. It was magical holding this little thing in my arms while I fed him, and as much as I didn’t want him, it made me sad that I had to give up the life I had carried inside me for the past nine months. I knew it was just hormones making me feel that way, but now I knew why those slaves were so depressed all the time. They had to do all this over and over, only to not even get to see the child most of the time. It was terrible and beautiful at the same time.

After a couple of days Andrea and her wife finally arrived and I got to find out his name, Alexander. I personally would’ve picked a different name, but this wasn’t my child and I had to accept that. Luckily Andrea was nice and gave me a chance to say goodbye to the little runt before they left.

Oddly enough, when I asked if Miss O’Connor was coming soon she admitted, “I honestly don’t know slave. She found out the same time I did, so I hope she’s coming. I’m not going to make any guarantees though. The slaves here are are already sad enough without people giving them false hope.”
I thanked her for her honesty and she left with my, I mean her, baby and a cooler full of ice and all the colostrum they took from me for the past four weeks. I hoped it was enough to give him the start he needed to live a healthy life. I waited until I was alone, and between the thought of Miss O’Connor forgetting me and the standard post-partum hormonal hell, all I could do was cry and have what felt like a massive anxiety attack. Luckily the nurses heard me and gave me something to help me calm down and get some much needed rest.

After a few more days I was released into the “Milk Barracks” while I was still waiting for Miss O’Connor to come get me. I had no idea why I couldn’t stay at the ranch if Miss O’Connor was coming to get me soon, but since I was being taken care of here for free I assumed it was just me having to earn my keep just like all the other slaves around me. I still would’ve appreciated a call though, even if it was “special treatment”. I deserved that much from her, and the lack of any contact gave me doubts as I was settling into the new barracks.

It was basically the same as the barracks for pregnant slaves, just without the TV area and shittier bathrooms. The overseers even moved my books and snacks over to my new dorm while I was still recovering in medical. Luckily I was exempt from work for a couple more weeks, and got to relax a bit while I recovered and tried to get my head together. I was still being milked however, and even had this little hand pump I was supposed to use on myself multiple times a day until my “mature” milk came in and I could be hooked up to the machine like everyone else.

By that point, I was starting to give up any hope of leaving this place, and by the time I was put to work, I was starting to realize that I was most likely a permanent breeder now. As a worker my job was simple, take care of the pregnant slaves and get milked three times a day. The work was easy but since milkers, as slaves like me were called, were given hormone shots to increase production, I realized why Fatima’s nipples were so destroyed. Unlike the pumps designed for free women, these pumps were designed to milk us dry every time so our supply would stay consistent and increase a little over time. This meant that my first time hooked up to one of these things for real was painful, to say the least. It got easier over the next couple of weeks, and I was eventually able to nap through most of those hours spent bent over that rack as long as we had the cool overseers who didn’t care if we slept or not. Occasionally we got one who was in a bad mood, or on a power trip, and got a good shock to wake us up, but we got lucky most of the time. I hated the thought of being pregnant again, and I hated being milked like a cow even more but as far as I was concerned this was my life now and I had to enjoy what I could before I ended up like Fatima or the women in the other building. In the end, Fatima was right, and her point was proven even further when I was told by one of the nurses that she was sold off after her last birth. She was disposable, I was disposable, and nobody was going to care about a house slave that could be replaced in a day. I was an idiot for trusting her.

One afternoon a few days after this realization, I was trying to nap during one of my milking sessions and got shocked awake. Of course, I got the dickhead overseer. After I yelped in pain I heard a familiar voice say, “You didn’t have to shock the poor girl. I was just gonna wake her up the normal way.”

The overseer shrugged and responded, “Slaves aren’t supposed to sleep while being milked ma’am. They know this, and already know what's gonna happen if I catch them.”

It was Miss O’Connor, she DID come for me... or she came to say goodbye. Both seemed equally likely in the depths of my post-partum depression.

As I was still getting my bearings after waking up I could feel her running her hand through my hair and gently grabbing it so she could put it in a rough ponytail. Then she kneeled down on the concrete floor and looked me in the eyes while softly saying, “Hey Anna, I’m sorry I couldn’t get the time off to come get you sooner, but the hospital was taking forever to cover my shifts so I could get out here.”

Likely story, I guess. I still would’ve appreciated something telling me she was coming though. Then for some reason she started inspecting my tits while they were still attached to the milking machine. She wasn’t rough, but I could feel her inspecting the skin around where the milk pump was hooked up to me.

While she was doing this she warmly said, “You poor thing, these can’t be comfortable. After you’re empty we’ll get these things off of you and get out of here. Does that sound good?”

I tearfully nodded and Miss O’Connor played with my hair while we waited for the machine to pump the last of my available milk out. I wanted to curse her out or give her a piece of my mind, but I didn’t even care anymore as I just stood there locked into the frame crying into her chest without even saying a word. It was over and I was finally going home and hopefully putting all of this behind me.