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The Farrs Post Country Club - August 5th, 1952 - 9:40pm

Sweat dripped from the sides of the milk bottles, running down to the half melted ice in the bucket. Elizabeth frowned at it. Of course, no one was drinking from the bottles. The Milktec mascot, a supposedly innocent young woman dressed like a Swedish maiden, leered back at Elizabeth. She wondered if that character had a name and if the artist based her on a real person. She didn’t wonder whether the artist had also drawn her naked, breasts bulging to obscene proportions, and milk squirting out of them while some simpering fool of man jerked himself off and lapped at her nipple. She knew that must exist somewhere in a drawer of the artist’s desk. She knew it because everyone kept their little sins in low, hard to reach places. Her eyes moved to the door that led downstairs before she checked her watch. How many had gone down already?

Elizabeth snagged the arm of a waitress. “Replace these immediately. Fresh ice and fresh bottles from the cold storage.” The girl asked if she should throw out the ones in tepid water. “No, don’t be daft. Rotate them, that’s all. And stay on top of it.” The girl was pretty, not much older than Elizabeth’s daughters, and yet somehow lacked any future whatsoever. How long before being a lackey for society life didn’t pay enough to keep her? How long until her curiosity about the downstairs room caught her in a web? Or some idle husband took a look at her and wondered if a healthy dose of serum could improve her physique? The waitress picked up the ice bucket and toddled off to the kitchens with it. Not long, Elizabeth thought, Not long until that one is a factory girl. Head in a feeding trough and suction cups on her tits. No great loss.

The party went on as Elizabeth strode through it. This party was the second night of the club’s quarterly social event. Originally, the two night parties were a means of raising money for the war effort. These days, the war either paid for itself or the government simply stopped pretending that they would honor their debts. Perhaps some of both. The true point of these socials was to make sure everyone was where they should be in the pecking order. At least, the first night served that purpose. The second night flirted with that idea, but a more illicit goal was on everyone’s mind. A goal to which Elizabeth held the key. Not every person was allowed to attend the special reception in the basement. Elizabeth decided who got to play and who didn’t. After last night’s mess, she was feeling considerably less generous with the attendees. As she nodded and smiled at the various groups of people, she overheard snippets of conversation.

Few people talked about politics in polite society. Not because it was likely to offend anyone, but simply because it was impolite to be a boring fuck whose knowledge was limited to the same war reels everyone else saw whether they wanted to or not. The war against the Nazis had been dynamic and interesting, at least. Horrendous yes, everyone knew that, but they did make for a good enemy. The Soviets with their trenches and artillery and seemingly endless horde of wasted human flesh made for less sparkling conversation. The war was a known, dull quantity. Somewhere in Europe, two armies sat looking across a wasteland at each other. In Farrs Post, Virginia, thinking barely at all about the world outside of it, Elizabeth Vaught surveyed her guests like a wolf sizing up a flock.

Her top goal for the evening was the same as it had been for the past year, to find good marriages for Amanda and Lydia. She cursed herself for producing two daughters at the same time. The twins presented a plethora of unique challenges in their upbringing, most of which boiled down to all the normal challenges of rearing a child, but doubled. In rare cases, this simplified things. It was at least as simple to move two daughters to boarding school as one, but it was less accommodating to get both daughters accepted to the same school. Jonesworth Finishing School, of course. Nothing else would have been good enough for a Vaught. Both Elizabeth and her sister had attended it. For years she believed the family name opened the door for her only to discover that her father’s generous donation led to her acceptance. More insulting than that crass bribery was the fact that Abigail’s acceptance didn’t require it. The school was eager to have the second Vaught daughter, a feeling not reciprocated.

Roving through the party with her practiced grace, she set her eyes on the golden cup. The Sparrow family was new to the area, but came from old money. More and more that seemed to be the case. The war somehow made it fashionable for elected officials to move their entire extended family to the region. Elliot and Agatha Sparrow tagged along with Senator David Lochland, Agatha’s brother. Elliot Sparrow had no more claim to notoriety than Elizabeth’s own husband. Well, perhaps enough to keep his family name alive. She’d allowed nothing of the sort with Benjamin. Vaught was as much his name now as it was hers, for all the good it did either of them.

The Sparrows noticed her approaching and winced. Elizabeth was accustomed to such looks. Her approach always inspired a reaction. The day it didn’t was the day she would confine herself to her parlor and never leave. Elliot’s reaction was muted, a mingled appreciation of both her demanding presence and her beauty. While the girls downstairs might outsize her, Elizabeth always had natural assets that easily drew any man’s attention. Agatha’s reaction was less mixed. The woman clearly hated Elizabeth. She greeted them both with a sweet smile and lilting voice. Whoever else they were speaking to, some young couple Elizabeth made a note to learn the names of in case they chose to get in her way again, drifted off as her presence filled the space. “How are you both? It’s been so long since we chatted.”

Elliot answered, a brief and terse report of their lives as he made a decent effort to ignore the rise and fall of Elizabeth’s breasts. It ended with a skewer of inquiry, “How’s Benny?”

She detested nicknames, most of all her husband’s. “Benjamin is well. He regrets being unable to attend tonight, but was called away on business.”

“Really? I didn’t think you let him come to these parties,” Agatha said. The way her words trilled out left them laced with plenty of unsaid thoughts. The smirk on her face was unearned for someone who liked her husband to watch while she took every cock she could manage to fit in her.

“I’m not such a badgering wife, I assure you,” she answered, a clean sharpness in her tone. “After all, the modern marriage is much changed, don’t you think? I wonder how the future generations will manage with all these new rules and understandings. It’s why I think it’s important to bolster our long standing traditions. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course,” Agatha said before her husband could respond. “We couldn’t be prouder of our Scott. He’s kept his nose in books for all these years, and now he’s a bona fide doctor. We don’t mind saying that he’ll be an absolute catch for whatever lucky girl steals his heart. That is to say, he knows only to leave his heart out for a girl who is worth having it stolen. Not someone whose fortunes have…faded.” Agatha flashed a smile at Elizabeth. “Is Greg coming tonight? Elliot has been meaning to discuss some things with him, as I understand it. Isn’t that right, darling?”

The husband clearly didn’t like seeing the knives out so blatantly this early in the evening. He cleared his throat, “Yes. We have some business together already, of course. Greg is always quick to find a good deal for a friend. Uh, actually, if you could put in a word for me that would —”

“Nonsense, dear,” Agatha said. “Elizabeth has her own troubles to manage. Those two daughters of hers are debuting this year, aren’t they? I even heard a little gossip that you gave a soft preview of them last night. Marrying off one daughter is enough to drive women batty these days. Marrying two would be a nightmare. It’s a shame I don’t know any good fits for someone of their breeding. The war has left us lacking in polite young men, after all.” Another flash of her sharp smile. “And I think Elizabeth would be the first to tell you to go straight to Greg with any of your concerns. He rules their family with an iron fist from what I hear.”

Perhaps you’d hear better if you spent less of your time choking on dick. “Gregory is rather bullish about things, but he and Abigail are happy to leave the social niceties to me. While I have the burden of being his sister-in-law, I also enjoy his auspicious sense of protection. Such things shouldn’t be taken for granted.” It thrilled her to see the fear flicker over their faces. They all knew what Greg could do. Perhaps the Sparrows would reconsider their son’s value if he was bagged and sent off to be one of Abigail’s lab experiments. It was Elizabeth’s lot to despise her sister and her husband, but one can hate a weapon while still wielding it. “How long until Scott takes a job with Milktec?” The Sparrows grew more uncomfortable. “That’s the way of the world, isn’t it? You do everything you can for your children to give them all the tools to strike out on their own in the world, but then they end up shackled to the same things we’ve always been chained to. The army, the government, or Milktec. Pretty soon those will be the only options left, and I doubt those will stay independent of one another for long, if they still are at all. A bright young mind like Scott simply isn’t needed out and about. Sure we keep a few doctors out there to set bones and stitch wounds, but everyone is so healthy now, courtesy of Milktec. They’ve cured the common cold, and we’ve barely noticed. Their cows get sick, though, don’t they. Or perhaps not sick, but chafed, and from what I hear, pregnant more often than not. I know they pay well, if only because Abigail has turned them down a dozen times over. They are tricky to work for, though. Most of their employees wind up on the factory floor in the end, so to speak. Imagine the chagrin of all those parents whose children have attained high level degrees or rank only to wind up slack jawed, serum altered breeding stock.”

She paused, folding her hands over one another and glancing around the room for other prospects. When she turned back to the Sparrows, Elliot was white with dread and Agatha red with fury. Elizabeth plastered on her most charming smile, “I’m sure that won’t happen to Scott. He obviously learned better from his parents. Speaking of which, will you be visiting downstairs tonight? I think we have enough new fare to suit your tastes.” Elizabeth watched them shift, devoured their discomfort. If they wanted to play hardball with her, then she needed to remind them how many dirty little secrets she kept for everyone. “On second thought, we wouldn’t want the bona fide doctor hearing any rumors about his mother’s proclivities. I actually need to go check how things are going. I’ll look forward to our next chat.”

She didn’t linger long enough to give them a chance to retort. Anger tingled under her skin as she strode through the party. The deferring guests assuaged it a little, but she liked feeling angry so she nurtured it with thoughts of her brother-in-law. Gregory was the savior and doom of their family. Of course he wasn’t going to come tonight. He and Abigail wouldn’t dare show their faces after last night’s debacle. Not that the incident had been their fault, but it didn’t change their undeserved arrogance. One, the foolish girl who married a thug, and the other a brute with no more good breeding in his history than however much his whore of a mother charged his drunkard of a father. All the sycophantic degenerates around Elizabeth would defer to her, but if Greg walked into the room, they would struggle to remain standing, feeling obliged to drop to their knees and kiss the boot that usually stood on their neck. The man had a way of keeping an interest in nearly every notable person Elizabeth knew, and she knew many. Part of her wanted him to appear, to knock everyone back down a peg so she could harangue him out of the place and stand over the sheared wheat in his wake.

The other part of her hated the sight of him. Hated the obligation she had to him. Hated how her sister loved him more than their family. Hated the way he sometimes looked at her, how her sister allowed him to look at her, as if they were in on some big joke at Elizabeth’s expense. Elizabeth pushed the thoughts out of her head as she approached the door to the stairwell. Her faultless smile returned, and she descended into sin.

The downstairs part of the party varied in its success from one occasion to the next. Sometimes, everyone climbed over each other to get down to the fun below the banal conversations happening upstairs. Other times, it seemed no one had an interest in the delights that waited beyond a quiet agreement to never speak or judge. Half of that agreement was kept with religious fervor, one born out of true fear that the pleasures would be denied or, worse, made permanent. Judgment, though, was free game so long as it didn’t come off too directly. Elizabeth had plenty of gossip to share about the lovely housewives or prideful politicians who frequented the Farrs Post Country Club basement.

As she emerged from the stairwell, a keen eyed young man in a tight shirt straightened up. He stepped close to her, “Can I help you in some fashion, Mrs. Vaught?”

“No, Timothy,” she said. “Only checking to make sure everything is going smoothly down here. Are all the guests sufficiently entertained?”

“Yes, ma’am. Low traffic this evening. A few have departed for the beds, but most remain in the play room.”

She smirked at him, eyeing the bulge of his muscle. “Are you partaking tonight?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, quick and sure. “I’m not in for rotation until two months from now.”

“Ah, but that’s on the official docket. Perhaps other arrangements could be made if parties were interested.” She’d watched him the last time he spent the night in the play room. The batch of serum they used that night had been on the milder side, and Timothy had still come out a hulking god of muscle and cock. One that was utterly wasted on the dainty tits of the other women.

“Is that an offer, Mrs. Vaught?” The gleam in his eye belied his hope. He knew the game, and she was obviously a nice prize since she was picky about her participation.

“I need to make a round to ensure everything is going smoothly. Then, if you like, we could find a room. Don’t worry about not being on the docket. I am a walking exception.” She offered a low purr as she leaned in close to him. He smelled sweet, one of those near candy-like colognes that had become popular with younger men. It lacked the strident allure of more classical scents, but it drew her in with its cloying warmth. They liked them because it complimented the creamy scent on everyone’s skin these days. Elizabeth allowed her head to tilt slightly into his neck, drawing in as much of that scent as she could hold, framing it in her mind to see if it matched the musk of the bull to come. She sensed his breath quicken, and she smiled. No matter how much men like Timothy saw, the allure of something they haven’t had always drew them in. She pressed her palm against his chest and pushed him back. “I won’t be long.”

The play room was originally a bootlegger’s stash, then a wine cellar, briefly a bomb shelter, and now a den of delights. They’d had cushioned benches built along the walls, which were padded with plush fabric as well. Stools, chaise lounges, and large, circular beds filled the room. Lanterns hung from the ceiling to cast a warm, honeyed light on everything. A few of the staff meekly stood at their posts around the room, ready to assist anyone who wanted anything. None of the guests ever had any interest in drinks or food, though. No, the staff was there to supervise and make sure nothing got too far out of hand. As for what that might be, Elizabeth and all the others hoped the well paid servants knew it when they saw it.

One of them approached her. A young woman, eyes full of shock. Not the first time she’d worked this job, but not the tenth either. She was wordless as she held out a small case lined with little glass vials filled with cream colored liquid. Elizabeth smiled blandly at the girl, “What on earth are you doing, girl? Do you know who I am? What’s your name?”

The servant looked horrified. She knew enough to realize a mistake, at least. “Beth, ma’am. I apologize if —”

“Is Beth short for something?” Elizabeth asked, hating the idea that this foolish young thing would share her name.

“Bethany, ma’am.”

Jaw tightened, Elizabeth gave the girl a placating nod. “It’s not your fault you didn’t know me. Someone should have been more thorough in your training and probably less fanciful about his chances of getting you dosed. I am Elizabeth Vaught. Please be certain to remember that. I may not be so understanding next time.”

Bethany bowed her head and backed away. It wasn’t a slight, Elizabeth told herself. No one left me out of the people she’s meant to recognize. The girl is careless or foolish or bewildered by her circumstances. Probably creaming her pants watching the show and not getting enough oxygen to her brain to know who I am.

With the girl out of the way, the room opened up in front of Elizabeth. Timothy was right, it was a slow night. While she chose everyone who had access to the basement, she’d given permanent access to the powerful and influential. Many of those slipped in through the basement access without ever bothering to show their face upstairs. The fact that many of those absent from the room tonight had been present at the previous night’s party wasn’t lost on her. She couldn’t control what others read into the situation any more than she could control how Abigail and Greg managed to make adversaries out of thin air.

Across the room, she noticed Simone Perkins. Her first night, Elizabeth thought. The rumors reached everyone eventually, but Elizabeth hurried them along until she caught Simone sneaking glances at the basement door. Curiosity got the better of the naive woman, and she soon asked discrete questions about what was going on behind the basement door. The hook was in her then, and it was a matter of time before the reel started to turn. Simone wasn’t special, just another unfortunate pawn. A pawn that was about to experience the best fuck of her life, but a pawn nonetheless.

Milktec Serum, of course. Black market, but safe. Controlled. Amazing. Orgasmic. Too good to be true, but true nonetheless. All of Elizabeth’s loyal little larks whispering the joys of the illicit drug’s recreational use. To go into the basement was to be among the elite, and what did the elite do behind closed doors? They rutted like animals in heat.

Years earlier, the idea horrified Elizabeth. Indebted to Abigail and Gregory within weeks of Abigail’s return to their familial home, they were not slow to turn the screw of her debt. Abigail was something of a rogue chemist, apparently long sought by Milktec recruiters. Somehow, she’d managed to work out a deal between herself and the company to conduct experiments on the proprietary serum. Which meant she needed test subjects. Elizabeth’s country club provided an excellent way of collecting data while also building a considerable dossier on local power players.

Elizabeth didn’t think it would work at first. The dangers of black market serum rarely outweighed the benefit. But, Abigail’s work was without flaw. Every batch for distribution came with a note describing the effects. Once word of the reliability and safety of the formula spread, it quickly became clear that the consequences had been the only thing holding anyone else back. A night of great sex wasn’t worth the risk of becoming a slavering cow until Milktec bothered to cook up a cure, but Abigail’s methods meant shedding off the puritanical yoke of society without risk.

None of the enthusiastic participants noticed Gregory’s hand closing around the throat of the community as each person came begging for a taste. Not even Elizabeth. Her own use of the serum was kept very private, but Abigail decided they needed more leverage on her sister. They set a trap for her, too. Arranged for a man who suited her tastes to betray her location. She wasn’t spared the indignity of having Gregory gawk at her as she waited out the serum’s effects. Her face still burned with resentment any time she thought of him standing half in shadow while her breasts dripped milk onto the floor underneath her, her sex aching with need enough to consider begging him to either return the man she’d meant to fuck or even do it himself.

Once she was back to her normal state, Abigail had told her that allowing everyone to use the serum privately wasn’t good enough. It needed to be an open secret. The club was meant to be a web, used to snare any of the little flies who might otherwise escape notice. They promised Elizabeth it would help her, too. She was fool enough to believe it for a while as well. In the end, it went the same as every other interaction with Gregory and Abigail. Elizabeth was left more obligated and more indebted to the pair.

Others have it worse, Elizabeth thought as she looked at the groups of half naked men and women scattered around the room. Some of the regulars hadn’t squirreled themselves away yet. Jessica Aldridge, the wife of Colonel William Aldridge, sat on the lap of a circuit court judge. Mrs. Aldridge had dosed the second she came in the room, Elizabeth guessed. The woman used so often that even Abigail’s serum had left its marks. In full flight, though, it was a wonder the judge hadn’t thrown a blood clot as she rode him. Breasts bigger than basketballs with nipples bulging like cow teats leaked any time the judge spared them his suckling mouth. Jessica had a wet sheen across both bulging orbs and down her taut belly. Her legs splayed open as she wriggled in search of a cock that might satisfy the growing ache inside her. Elizabeth doubted she’d find it with the judge. He was a regular, too. Liked to drink and touch, but hadn’t worked up the nerve to dose himself.

The play room had many rules. At the top of the list was that dosed males needed to excuse themselves to a private room. They could linger until they found a partner, but once the fervor took them, it was better for everyone if they were sequestered with however other many parters they could gather. Otherwise, the room would devolve into open orgy. It happened every few months. No one would mind if it didn’t run the risk of unexpected pregnancies. Abigail mixed in some contraceptive, but its viability was left in question, primarily to ensure some measure of restraint among the patrons.

Another group drew Elizabeth’s attention. She didn’t know the man’s name, but he was a recent addition to Gregory’s payroll. A mid-level suit from the Bureau. The man seemed to be enjoying himself. Marilyn Evans was alternating her tits and her mouth on his dick. The man had dosed, but it was a slow batch. Elizabeth saw the twitches in his body, muscle shifting and changing. Changes to the cock usually came last or near enough to it. Marilyn was the head of the Farrs Post Parent Teacher Association. She often brought around some of the teachers and administrators as special guests, forming quite the intimate bond with them. The men were reduced to simpering fools with bellies filled with Marilyn’s milk, and the women tended to wind up side by side with Marilyn, each riding an enhanced man. Elizabeth recalled a young first year teacher drawn down to the play room and dosed. The woman went nearly berserk with the stuff. She lasted three months before running off with the high school quarterback to join a factory group. Abigail wouldn’t say whether the serum had actual addiction properties, but such bliss was addicting in itself.

Elizabeth watched the sucking and petting with professional disinterest. Everything was going as smoothly as she hoped. She searched for other reasons for the disappointing turnout. Milktec wasn’t the media darling it had been during the height of the war against the Axis. Choke hold or not, too many men and women had disappeared. Too many strange, secret facilities kept popping up all over the place. Well, too many for the company to act with pure impunity. They still bowed their heads in humble contrition before every committee Congress could cobble together. More and more regulatory commissions spun up by the day. Not that any of it mattered. Milktec Milk out sold traditional dairy ten to one. The strawberry flavor they released at the start of the year didn’t stay in stock longer than a few hours. Elizabeth didn’t know if they mixed in the flavor after harvesting the milk or if they somehow made the girls squirt out the flavored version straight from their teats.

She circled through the room. A few people muttered hello. Most were too absorbed in their passion to notice her at all. She would need to strip down and offer up some flesh if she wanted their attention. It was this thought that allowed a crack in her shield of distanced evaluation. The week hadn’t been pleasant, and she hadn’t had the chance to alleviate her troubles in a few days. She moved back to the front of the room and felt warmth bloom inside her as Timothy’s smile broadened. She slid her hand into his and gently tugged him along to the hallway. The first three doors were closed, moans vibrating out through the heavy wood. They went into the fourth.

As soon as the door closed, Timothy pushed her against the wall. Elizabeth was a tall woman and never took a man to bed who was shorter than her. Timothy, happily, stood at nearly six foot three before any serum. His head tilted to the side, and his mouth pressed down hard on hers. Their tongues lashed together, swirling in a needful dance as their hands slid up and down one another’s body. They parted long enough for Elizabeth to move her hand up to her own breasts, sliding between them as Timothy unbuttoned his shirt. She pulled out a small box from between her cleavage. No, it wasn’t the most practical place to keep it, but it always earned her a small glint of interest from whichever man she chose. She thought it infused their thoughts with wonder at what other secrets waited behind her dress.

The box clicked open. It held two small vials, one topped with a pink cap and the other blue. “You first,” she purred. “I like to watch.”

Timothy took the blue capped vial. “Yes ma’am,” said. The cap popped off. He smiled as he put the vial to his lips and knocked back his head. He rolled his neck, teasing out the tension. He returned the vial to the box and took it over to the small table as he unbuttoned his pants and slipped off his shoes. “If you like to watch, you’ll need a good view. But, fair is fair, I need something to look at, too.” The room wasn’t as thoroughly furnished as the playroom, but it did offer a small stool and a comfortable bed. Timothy dragged the stool over to the wall near the door. His hand grabbed hold of Elizabeth and pulled her to the stool, forcing her to sit down. He lingered, letting her breathe in his scent as her mouth lingered inches from his unbuttoned pants. He moved away right as she tilted toward him, driven by a desire to lick along his muscled torso. When he came back, he put the other vial into her hand. “When you’re ready.”

His hands trailed down her arm before moving to her breasts. He knelt down in front of her, meeting her lips with his again as his rough palms pressed against her breasts. She considered taking the dose right away, but didn’t want to give herself over too easily. She wanted him to earn it. His hands moved down to her thighs. He pushed them apart, spreading her legs as he pulled her dress up to her knees. Their kiss warped as his lips spread in a smile. Their foreheads pressed together as his fingers lingered at her garters before pushing up higher, revealing her milky thighs. Thumbs dug into the soft flesh as he groaned with lust. Elizabeth shivered, her underwear growing wet with her need even before the serum. His hands moved closer and closer. The tips of his fingers brushed along the joint of her thigh and pulled back like he’d touched a hot iron.

Timothy rose from his kneeling position. Elizabeth went to lower her dress out of habit. “No,” he said in a husky voice. “I told you. You get to watch, so I get to see you get wet for me.”

The cheek on him. Won’t be long before he’s gobbled up by someone with an attitude that brash. She didn’t let her thoughts interfere with the warm throb in her body. She spread her legs wider, letting the hem of her dress pool around her hips. The white lace panties would show her enthusiasm soon. She wanted him to know everything he could have, though. She slid her hands back and unfastened the clasp of the dress. It loosened on her shoulders. With a small tug, it fell from her, allowing the luscious mounds of her breasts to peek into view. Timothy growled at her, the flicker of beast in his eyes as the serum took hold. She hoped he would be rough with her. She liked it when one of the servants thought himself big enough to treat her like nothing. Like a cow in heat.

His body jerked and twisted. Once the spasms started, Timothy knew to lean into them, working the energy out through inelegant thrusts and stretches. His body grew leaner, muscle bulging out across his bare chest and abs. His head arched back as he stretched some tension out in his jaw. The pants, even unbuttoned, grew tighter around his thighs, revealing the outline of the hard cock trapped down one pant leg. He grumbled incoherently as the growth reached discomfort. Pawing at the last scrap of clothes on him, he tugged them down past the knees. When he stood up, the sight drew Elizabeth’s hand to growing wetness between her thighs. Her breath caught as Timothy braced himself against the wall for a surge of change. His manhood stood out, throbbing and huge. The ripple of change sent a wobbling spurt through his length, resulting in a glob of clear fluid oozing from the tip. It dripped down like sap, leaving a thin tendril in its wake.

Elizabeth pulled her panties to the side. She wanted him to catch her scent. She wanted him to claim her before she ever took the dose. Part of it was about control, to know that she could make a beast like Timothy bend. Another part was the sheer impatience of need. The ache inside of her rattled her bones. She felt as though she might drift apart atom by atom without something inside of her to draw it all back together. Timothy’s knowing smirk returned as his hand moved to his new girth. He stroked up and down its length at a slow pace, taunting her with the idea of his hand being her hand or her throat or her cunt. She lifted her other hand, the one holding her dose. She would take it and let the changes have her, let this buck of a man fuck her senseless while her milk splashed across his perfect chest.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Go the fuck away,” Elizabeth hissed, hating the guttural, low sound of her voice.

A small voice answered, “Sorry, ma’am, but I was sent to tell you that you’ve received a call.”

Anger flooded over her arousal. Elizabeth stood and moved to the door, yanking it open to find Bethany standing on the other side. She had little color in her cheeks when the door opened, and what remained drained out as she took in the sight of Elizabeth’s exposed breasts and the naked male masturbating behind her. “Why in God’s name is that reason enough to bother me in here? Who trained you? Who fucking hired you for that matter because it wasn’t me. I want to know who was stupid enough to allow an insubordinate, low class slut like you into this building.”

The girl winced through the barrage of insults, keeping her head down. From behind Elizabeth came a low growl, but neither of the women knew who it was meant to support. “Apologies ma’am, but I was clearly instructed to interrupt you no matter what you were doing. The call made that clear.”

Elizabeth snatched the scrap of paper from the girl’s hand. “They know. Meet me in the study.” Elizabeth’s rage faltered, and her blood chilled. “Who was on the line? Man or woman?”

“I didn’t take the call, ma’am,” Bethany said.

She tutted, but it wasn’t the girl’s fault. Elizabeth pulled her dress up, attempting to smooth out the evidence of what she’d been doing. The phrase was a warning, only to be used if things had gone wrong. It wasn’t something she’d ever expected to hear. She glanced behind her right as Timothy grunted. Thick ropes of his seed spilled forth renewing the thunder of need in her body. Both women watched him finish, admiring the pool of cum on the floor. Elizabeth pushed the vial into Bethany’s hand. “Drink it.”

“Ma’am, I’m on —”

“Drink it, and everything bad goes away. Don’t, and you face the consequences of your incompetence. Your choice.”

Bethany was pretty. A wilted flower compared to Elizabeth’s robust allure, but she didn’t want to feel guilty leaving Timothy unfulfilled. Perhaps the serum would fill the girl out enough to suit the man’s taste. The servant girl considered her options for an admirably long few seconds before downing the vial. Elizabeth finished composing herself, ignored the seething lust across the room, and stepped into the hall before shoving Bethany in with the beast. “Have fun you two.”

She waited long enough to see Timothy descend on the new woman with hungry ferocity. His tongue and lips roved over Bethany while he drew in the new scent slowly emerging from her skin. It would take her a few minutes to change. Hopefully she could distract him with other options to give her time to change before he fucked her. Otherwise it would be uncomfortable for them both. Elizabeth shut the door after Timothy ripped open Bethany’s blouse and shoved one of her nipples in his mouth. Elizabeth thought she saw a hint of milk pool at the corner of his slurping lips.

The smell of him stayed on her as she left the club. Her driver said nothing as she told him to take her home. With Timothy and the play room gone, sitting in the chill of her car allowed the dread to root in her gut. Something very wrong had happened. The reporter had gone too far or turned over the wrong rock, and now Elizabeth knew she would have to weather a storm. The first step was to get home and find out where it would start.