He was curled up in her lap. His lips wrapped around her nipple. She played with his hair pulling on it causing him to softly moan in pain. Milk stained the rim of his lips.
She watched the pig sucking hungrily at her sore teat. She was nursing him with apathy, like she would her three month old son. His hunger wasn’t subtle, with his nails digging into her skin. The needling pain of his gouging being the only thing she could feel in the moment.
The Farm catered to fetishes from coprophilia to lactophilia- it was a backwoods playground for the inane and inordinate. She’d worked there for several months now.
She watched the men, women and children associated with The Farm come and go. Whilst businessmen, nurses, butchers, waiters, athletes. They came, they knelt, they lapped up her milk for as long as she could go for. It was a simple transaction, for them at least.
The current pig sucking away was nameless, yet outside of the barn he seemed important, a rich lawyer maybe, a politician from the plumes of the south. She tried everytime but wasn’t able to put a name to the face.
He paid well though, eagerly tipping her each time at the end of their transaction.
With a sudden ferocity he tore away. Wiping his mouth clean and looking at her sheepishly yet still with overwhelming hunger.
“Yes, the milk, I want more.”
“Well I’m sorry, I’m all spent.”
She replied nervously.
“I preferred the other girl, she lasted longer”
He muttered venomously. She ignored him, remaining silent as she wiped a speck of milk off her thighs.
“You can continue playing if you want to?”
she replied despondently.
He nodded. Putting his lips back around her nipple, continuing to suck and fondle. This time however he resumed with a punishment for her; his teeth closed tightly on her nipple.
She grimaced in pain but restrained herself from audibly expressing hurt. The farmer had explicitly told her from day one to never express pain in front of the patrons.
In the fairly short time she’d been here, she’d endured everything from burning to biting to hitting. Not once had she ever screamed or gasped. The abuse seemed almost trivial now. The men didn’t care. In her own eyes she felt like she was dead. Feelings had vacated her long ago.
She looked at every one now with the same, dormant disgust she was giving the man right now.
Internally her heart raged against the odds, beating ferociously as if trying to escape her body, whilst her stomach bubbled with bile.
She came back to reality when there was a loud knock on the barn door.
The farmer howled from beyond the barn doors.
Begrudgingly the man got up, wiped his face and dropped a fiver in her pot. Scurrying off out of the barn.
The next man slinkily entered, wearing a cheap, dirty tracksuit, harbouring a slimy look.
He looked at her nude body in lust; the dark strands of pubis on her vagina, the erect nipples. Her long nails coated in a fading red nail polish, her rosy red lipstick smeared. For him it was a sight to behold.
Momentarily, before the transaction could begin they made eye contact. She looked piercingly into his eyes and saw nothing, much like he saw nothing in hers.