Help Meet (A Dystopian Tale, Part 3)

It is the near future. A certain religious cult has taken over the USA. Women are now regarded as a resource only. Their sole purpose? To please men.

Author’s note. I highly recommend you read parts 1 & 2 so this makes more sense.

I pillow my head on my arms, my pale breasts blocking my view of Pete as he spreads my legs. His hand glides in at once, no working to stretch me first. A year has passed and now I open inside at a man’s first touch—clit or nipple—it makes no difference. My hips are elevated on a pillow, my spread legs raised above my head, held widely apart by ropes attached to rings in the ceiling above. Pete is fisting me for the second time today, his two hands rotating slowly back and forth within my cunt.

Frowning, I try to see between the two ripened melons on my chest. My breasts are swollen and heavy now, the delicate blue veins faintly seen beneath my skin. My nipples stand out hard and red from my creamy flesh, the pink areolas around them the size of silver dollars.

I smile, proud of myself for trusting Pete, for putting my faith in the talented boy. Thanks to him my muscles under my breasts are strong enough to support the rapid growth of my mammary glands. Despite my size, my breasts ripple and float weightlessly with my every movement when I swim. They never sag when I walk, or go flat when I’m in bed. When I’m in water they have a life of their own, bobbing loosely with the tiny currents. Men on the lower level of the aquarium stop talking when I glide past them, or if they’re on their phones their eyes go blank and they forget what they are saying.

The demand for me is very high, Pete says. But I am like a prized mare to my owners, with only a small handful of men getting to touch my velvety skin.

Pete grunts as he fists me hard one-handed, his elbow disappearing and reappearing above my jutting nipples. No other boy in the camp knows my cunt so well, every warm nook and cranny of my moist interior.

I have been bred twice this past week. For over a year I have performed very well in the big tank out front, and now they want offspring from me, and afterwards milk, for as long as my body is able. The man they chose to fuck me tonight is black, from what I’ve heard. A multi-billionaire and frequent customer to the aquarium who won a raffle for the right.

“Is there any way I can just keep swimming?” I ask Peter as he works. My body is responding to the skillful hands pushing at me from within, the pressure building inside. I am still just as tight as I was at fifteen. But now at sixteen my body is a well-trained athlete, the inner muscles contracting on command when a man desires a challenge, or relaxing into softness for the lazy ones who don’t. Either way it’s fisting, and like all girls my age I relish being stretched and worked hard, even hunger for it on those gloomy days when the aquarium is closed to business.

For Pete I open inside the moment he walks through the door, like Ivan Pavlog’s dog drooling at the sound of a bell. He gives me a peck on the cheek before he starts, then lifts my feet to the stirrups. He takes his time with me, sometimes dragging it out for over an hour or more, priding himself on the wide-open cavern he achieves after a lengthy session, the cave of my yawning vagina he displays to any admiring spectators gathering by the end.

I smile at the thought of the boy Pete had called forward last week, urging the youngster to insert his whole head. The boy had eagerly complied, calling out a cheery ‘hello?’ to see if it would echo.

“You don’t want a baby?” Pete asks. “Dani, you’re in top condition right now. I doubt you’d feel much pain.”

I arch my back, the tiny sounds escaping from my throat as I climax. Fluid pulses from my body, spurting warmly across Pete’s arm. Panting, I fall back on the table.

“It’s not that,” I manage through my gasps. “I don’t want to die, Pete. I’m scared. If I have a baby, I’ll be a milker for what, two years? Then there’s nothing after that. I just die. Even if I’m perfectly healthy.”

He plays with my clit, smiling at the twitching muscles around my opening. “You do know that pleasing men is the most important thing a girl can do, right? Of course you know – I’ve drummed that into you. So what’s the problem? You are serving a purpose.”

“Death!” I say. “I’m only sixteen. If I have a baby now, I’ll be almost eighteen by the time I have it. Then I hear milkers only last two years. That mean’s I’ll only be twenty when they kill me. Not twenty-two. Why can’t we wait and get me pregnant when I’m eighteen?”

“Well . . .” Pete sighs and resumes his work. “They keep learning from trial and error. Girl meat is best by age sixteen. If you can’t conceive, this way they’ll find out earlier and harvest you, getting the best price they can. If they wait to breed you at eighteen, you are already beyond your prime. Then if you don’t get pregnant, all they have to show for the effort they’ve invested in you, is old girl, or ‘crone’ meat, which nobody wants to buy.”

A chill of fear runs down my spine. “You mean I could die this year if I don’t get pregnant? But I’m only sixteen!”

Pete nods. “I know, Dani. I’m sorry. It’s a bad thing for you girls, what’s happened to us. There’s just so many people and not enough space for us all, or food for us to eat. The domed cities are a ray of hope, at least. I’ve been in a model of one and it’s never above seventy-six degrees inside. The farms are getting similar covers, but it takes time. And even then we still don’t have a meat source. We have bird meat—chickens or turkeys, or whatever. But that’s all. It’s not enough for most men. Men crave red meat. They’ll do anything for it.”

Tears run down my face. “I don’t want to die.”

He pats my thigh. “You won’t,” he says in a hearty voice. “Dominique is a very reliable stud. If he can’t get you pregnant, nobody can. As for you dying at twenty-two, that’s not always true. For as long as you produce milk, you’ll get to live.”

Pete bends to whisper in my ear. “Some milkers do live longer, and so will you because you’re strong. We’ve worked very hard to make you that way. As long as you keep on the machine every day and keep producing, you’ll be fine. Just don’t let them forget to attach the machine. You have to stay on them about that.”

“Great, so I get to be a cow!” I sulk. “Oooh, how lucky!”

“That’s what you call it?” Pete raises a brow. “Milkers keep babies healthy and thriving. They help to keep humanity alive. I’d call that something more than just being a cow!”

“Moo!” I say playfully, laughing at his expression. I wince a moment later as he tilts his arm, sliding in hard as far as he can go.

***

I walk on the grass as I head back to the barn where we girls are kept. For the thousandth time, I pass the barely visible trail leading up into the woods. I don’t know what possesses me to run—to disobey Pete or want to destroy our friendship, but before I know it I am halfway up the rocky path, my long blond hair tumbling down my back as I sprint out of sight among the trees.

Running is difficult, I realize, with my soft bare feet that have never felt gravel before. My breasts are heavy as I race, bending me forward and swaying wildly. I clamp one arm over them to pin them against my ribs. My once perfect skin is bleeding now. I sob in my throat and push my way blindly, and as the pathway ends, I plunge on through the brush, cutting through nettles and bracken ferns, ducking low beneath the boughs. With aching legs, I slow as the incline gets steeper. Puffing for breath, I claw with my hand to swipe aside branches. The trees thin ahead and I slow even more, coming to a stop at the edge of a vast clearing.

At the sight of the parking lot filled with cars, and the huge red barn behind it, I drop to my knees. Men are laughing outside with beers in their hands. Some have blood on their shirts and faces. Tables are lined up beside the barn, and as the wind changes, I savor the aroma of so many foods. There are fires beyond the tables—three in all with meat roasting above them, the limbs of the hapless creatures still attached and bent backward, shackled behind each roasting carcass. It is the meat I smell, and I breathe it in, my mouth watering.

I jump as a hand clamps my shoulder.
“You shouldn’t have run,” Pete hisses in my ear. “That is the barn you’ve heard so much about. They have patrols in these woods. If they catch you here, they’ll claim you, and I could do nothing to stop them. See that meat? Can you guess where it came from?”

I shiver as I focus on the browned and dripping lumps. Painfully I swallow and nod. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t. Now come.”

Meekly I follow Peter, limping painfully down through the brush. He leads me to a trail I hadn’t seen before, and the going gets easier as we travel down. Reaching a river, he stops and turns. “I want to work on you here, and in the little meadow beyond as well. Get in the water so your legs point upstream. It’s been a while since we’ve cleaned you out.”

I obey, shivering as I lie face up between two boulders. Pete lifts my knees and hooks them over the two large rocks beside me. Crouching between my legs, he removes the horse speculum from his bag and slides its cold metal deep inside me. I shiver hard as he clicks the jaws fully open, the cold water rushing in to fill me up. Pete turns my hips with his hands, changing my angle to allow the river’s current to flow directly in. He kneels behind my head and slowly massages my breasts, his hands digging into my flesh and pulling hard. We wait for a time—a half hour at least—until satisfied, Pete removes the speculum and helps me up.

“Now the sun should feel very nice on your skin,” he tells me as he leads me toward the field of tall grass. I shiver again as I walk, the chill water pouring down my legs. “I don’t know how I’ll explain away those scratches all over you. I’ll make up something. I’ll tell them I wanted to wash you in the river. At least your wounds will confirm we were here.”

Nodding, I lie on my back in the warm grass. Pete sets my right knee over his shoulder, then pushes my left leg back, urging me to grasp my knee with my hands. Lying down on his stomach, he spreads me open and gently tastes, his tongue’s feathery touches exploring inside my folds. He inserts the index fingers of both his hands in, then opens me with little nudges, his warm tongue licking the soft tissue inside my opening. Gradually he presses in deeper, his fingers pulling me apart with more force. I am groaning on my back, raising my hips. Pete takes his time, smiling as he circles inside with his tongue. Then he pulls back and sits between my legs, the sun bright on my pussy as he slides in fingers from both hands, then stretches me wide.

“I understand you want to live your life,” he tells me softly. “It’s hard to let go of the old way of thinking. A part of you still feels like girls are equal, huh? You should be able to go to school, have a career, and a life; to be your own boss.”

I screw my eyes shut to stop my tears. “Yes,” I reply. “I’m a human being, not livestock. I’ve gone along with all of it with no complaints. But I don’t want to hang from a sling all day, or have some machine draining my body.”

Pete is silent. He focuses on his work, gliding his hand in gently as far as it will go. He holds it there, shakes it slightly, then rotates his wrist. My flesh is cool inside from the river, the heat from his hand slowly warming me within. “There is an alternative—”

“Can’t I just swim?” I cut him off. “I am good at my job, and the men like me. Why can’t I swim until I turn eighteen?”

“You won’t want to be a milker then, either. But I have an idea.”

Trembling, I wait him out. His hand eases rhythmically in and out, my fluids collecting around his wrist.

“I could buy you,” he says finally. “We’ll breed you tonight as planned, and then I will ask Dr. Burns if I can purchase you. “I’ve been toying with the idea for a while now, ever since I went full time here. We men who are better off do have the right to own a girl. If I buy you, it’ll save poor professor Burns the bother of getting rid of you. He doesn’t keep pregnant girls here, you know.”

I draw a deep breath. “What would you do with me if you did buy me?”

“Oh I don’t know. A little of this. A little of that.” His voice is playful as he quickens his rhythm, lifting my right leg higher as he straightens his spine. “First we’ll see if the breeding takes. If not, maybe I’ll try breeding you myself. Most men keep a girl for the milk she can give. And for the fucking as well, of course. But in addition to that you’d have a pool out back. You could swim in that, or start your own garden. I also have two cats to help keep you company.”

“And my child?” I ask. “If I give birth, can I keep the baby?”

Pete shakes his head. “If it was up to me, I’d let you. My mother did a fine job raising me. But that was then and this is now. The church is very strict about how our children are raised. They’d rather let a man raise a baby than a girl. Tell you what, though. I’d keep tabs on where the baby goes and make sure it is your milk he or she gets, and not milk from some other girl.”

I look at him over the mound of my lifted pelvis. “If you own me, when would I have to die? When I run out of milk?”

He sighs, then lifts both my legs and pushes them forward over my head. The wet sounds are louder now, Pete penetrating me forcefully and jerking back out. “We will cross that bridge when we come to it,” he says. “For right now, let’s just see if they’ll sell you to me. You’re about done with your time as a swimmer, so it’s entirely possible they would. Though I might have to sign a contract binding me to this place—at least for the next five years.”

“Or you can hand her over to us,” a sudden voice growls from behind my head. I give a start, calming as Pete pats my knee gently.

“And who are you?” Pete asks. I turn my head as a large imposing figure of a man steps into my sight.

“I am Tom Compton, that’s who, and your girl here was caught by one of our cameras. She was on our property which now makes her ours.”

Sitting back, Pete draws his hand slowly from my body and squints upward. “From the barn on the hill, I take it?”

The man crouches down, his hands reaching to separate my folds and feel inside. “Nice,” he says finally. “You’ve got her so soft and relaxed. You do good work, boy.”

Pete smiles. “I try. I’ve been working this job for two years now.”

“Hmm. I’m impressed.” Tom squeezes my breast, then proceeds to probe my body with his fingertips. “She’s at the perfect age to be harvested. We’ll take her off your hands, boy. I have a slip you can give your employer if they have any problems.”

Pete’s smile stiffens on his face. “She’s better than that. I don’t want her tortured.”

“Tortured?” The man rocks back on his heels. “Oh, we don’t torture meat, dear boy. Fear pumps adrenaline into the flesh, which can ruin the taste. No, girls like this get careful handling. She won’t even know it when her time comes.”

I am staring at Pete, tears welling in my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Pete says. “I plan to buy her myself. As her trainer, it is my right.”

“You lost that right the moment she stepped onto our field.”

“She wasn’t on it,” Pete retorts. “I was there and I saw where she was. She never left the tree line. Besides, she’s been bred.”

“Bred?” The man eyes my stomach. “When?”

“Twice last week, and she’s scheduled again for tonight. You can’t have her. She could already be pregnant.” Pete digs into his pocket and draws forth a thick envelope. “See for yourself, if you don’t believe me.”

The man snatches the parcel from Pete’s thin hands, opens it hastily, then unfolds its contents. Rapidly he reads, his eyes flicking back and forth.

“If she’s pregnant,” Pete says, “it could be a boy, for all we know. That’s worth keeping her alive, don’t you think?”

The man grunts deep in his throat. He drops the envelope, his face reddening. “What a waste,” he mutters. “A milker. You’re going to make her a damn milker. So that’s one more mouth taking the food off our table longer than it should.”

“And putting it in the mouths of babes!” Pete fires back. “Not to mention your own. I’m pretty sure you buy girl milk at the store.”

Glaring, the man kicks at the envelope. He wheels, his big hands clenched, and vanishes among the trees.

***

Pete keeps me in the grooming room after our return, bringing me food from the kitchen to tide me over. After I eat, he leads me into the side room where the breeding gets done. It is warm and sparsely furnished, with just one chair, a sink, toilet, and a bed. A large black man is sitting in the chair. He grins at me as the door closes behind me, then motions me to the bed. I am trembling as he undresses himself, and I catch my breath at the size of his heavily veined cock.

He kneels on the floor beside the bed and opens my thighs, then spreads me wide. Circling his tongue inside my wet opening, his eyes laugh in delight as he looks up at me, sticky tendrils drawing outward with his tongue. He licks his lips and, cocking his head, presses in again to leisurely eat me out. The slurping sounds fill the little room as he lifts up my buttocks, licking down to my anus and back, his big fingers plunging inside my pussy, then spreading the flesh deeper in. His tongue finds every crevice and cubby, every nerve and yielding inch. Deeply he plunges with his tongue, lapping like a dog to catch every drop. Then rising all at once, he sheaths his cock to the root and fucks me, the muscles rippling on his chest and flanks under his dark skin. I feel the tip of him connecting with my cervix, the organ swelling inside me, forcing me to expand. He draws out slowly and back in, grinning as I cry out. Then grunting, he quickens his pace, his hips rising and sinking, the thick reality of his cock heating my flesh inside, bringing fluid to the surface with soft little smacks.

I writhe beneath him as he relinquishes his load, the hot semen filling me, pouring up past his member to seep down my ass. Exhausted, I lay trembling as he bites at my nipples. Sitting up while still inside me, he massages my breasts like a man who knows how, finding the knots in the muscles and bearing down until they give, then working the entire breasts with thumbs and fingers, digging in and pulling, then rubbing deeply until they loosen, my tits rippling at the slightest touch. I am lying face up, my legs still spread behind him. He lowers himself backward to kneel on the floor, then pushes his whole hand in. I resist him at first. His hands are big, far larger than Pete’s. Breathing deeply, I count backward from ten, taking my time with the exhale as the large hand rotates deeper, my bones seeming to crack as it forces its way in.

Dominique takes his time with the fisting, his free hand pinning my left thigh to the bed. Thoughtfully he works, his brow scrunching with effort as he sinks in slowly—to relax again as he draws back out. My cunt loosens around his hand, my muscles yielding, opening wider with every stroke. He laughs and pumps me vigorously, rotating close to the surface to loosen me further, then plunging back down. Holding deep inside, he tilts his arm to various angles, his efforts stretching me inside, opening me wide from top to bottom. With both his big hands he gapes me and grins, his white teeth flashing as he peers inside. His fingers slide deep to press my inner walls—then he opens me again to examine me closely. “You ripe,” he says approvingly in his deep baritone voice. “Such a lovely girl!”

Rising up once more, he rams his cock in. With a furious intensity he fucks me, his hips moving fast, the flesh of his thighs slapping my own. He cums hard almost at once, and just as quickly withdraws, his hands lifting my legs up high over my head. Patiently he stands holding my ankles in one hand, the palm of his other massaging my pelvis. We stay like that for five full minutes; then at last he lets me down.

“There you go, pretty one,” he says in his exotic voice. “Now you will have baby. Dominique good man.” He proudly pats his chest. “Never fail.”

I manage to smile. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He gives me a slight bow, then dresses and leaves. I continue to lie on the little bed, holding the semen in me as long as I can. If I don’t get pregnant, those men will want to claim me, I remind myself. I won’t even see my seventeenth birthday.

Pete comes in and helps me from the bed. He stands scrutinizing my body, a slight smile on his face. “The men are calling for you at the tank,” he tells me finally. “Go give them a show, Dani.”

I hurry from the room and mince barefoot across the hot sidewalk. The back door of the aquarium is open, a huge fan blowing the hot air out from within. Girls make way as they see me approach, our breasts mushing against each other as I shove my way through.

The tank is warm in the afternoon sun, and I dive neatly in, my slim body cutting through the water. I pause, enjoying the deliciously loose feeling of my lightly bobbing breasts. Swimming to the lower level, I see the leering men behind the clear glass, their eyes lighting up as my ripe breasts drift forward with the currents of the water, the hard nipples jutting a dark pinkish red. Moving sideways, I let my breasts shift back and forth like lazy water balloons, my tits rippling with the motion. I open my thighs and a faint cloud of white drifts out, the last of Dominique’s sperm escaping with my fluids. The men laugh at this and press closer. I finger my cunt, using both hands to spread my folds as I seductively shake my shoulders. My breasts sway back and forth, bobbing in a circular motion. Blowing my audience a kiss, I arch my back and point my breasts straight upward, my legs wide as I float on my back in front of the rapt men. Then massaging my right nipple, I rise gracefully, cleaving the surface for a breath.

I dive back down, this time rocking my shoulders back and forth as I swim, my heavy breasts swaying and bobbing. Once more I stop before the men and play with my tits, kneading them deeply with both hands as I undulate my hips. I open my thighs and push my fingers in, bringing forth another milky haze as I draw back out.

When I break the surface again, Pete is kneeling above me. He cups my left breast, then softly kisses the nipple. “It’s all agreed, Dani,” he whispers softly. “If you turn out to be pregnant, you’re mine!”

***

“Well there you have it,” the head girl at our barn is frowning at the pregnancy test. She shows it to me and shrugs. “Guess you’ll be leaving us.”

I hold the stick in my hand, staring at the little pink line in stunned amazement. I glance at Helen below my bunk. She is beaming with pride and nodding her head. “You’re going to have a baby, Dani! That is the best usefulness of all!”

I nod, tears stinging my eyes at the thought of my own baby. “But I don’t get to keep him.”

“No, that’s not what girls are for,” Helen agrees. “You can’t put a baby first, not ahead of a man. We were made to please men, remember? You can’t do that if you have a fussy baby.”

“Please men,” I echo, staring at the rows of bunks in the barn. So many girls are gone now. The rebels had been taken to the barn on the hill six months back to this day. I swallow, visualizing the terrible moment when Breanne had been dragged from her bunk. The tall girl had fought tooth and nail with all her might, only to have her limbs—arms and legs both, bound behind her back.

She had been skinned alive and cooked that very evening, Pete had confided to me. The terrible screams I had heard all night had been hers. As for my older sister . . .

I fight back tears as I think of Debra. She, too, had been taken to that horrible place. But there had been no cries or shrieks of terror. I had not even found out until several months later.

“You never have to worry about going to that barn again,” Helen breathes, as if catching the reason behind my tears. “Pete loves you. As much as any man is able to love an inferior. He’ll take care of you, I know it.”

I nod slowly and manage to smile.

End of Part Three

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