Thelma had had a great weekend. She had just taken a solo trip up into the mountains, popping into antique barns and tiny local museums. Now at the beginning of her drive home, it was the perfect time to pick up local produce to enjoy in the week to come. She had her eyes peeled, and on a particularly quiet stretch of road she saw a hand-painted sign with an arrow, reading only, “Milk.”

Perfect. Thelma turned onto the little dirt road, girding herself as the drive got bumpier. She continued on for several minutes, almost growing concerned that she was headed nowhere when the woods opened into a clearing with a small metal shack.

Thelma pulled up and got out of her car, looking for signs of other people. None were apparent, but the door to the shack said “Open,” and when she tried the door she found it was unlocked. A bell jingled as it opened, and then clicked closed behind her.

The room inside was clean but spare. There was a counter with a jar of cash, a fridge, and not much else. There was also an open door revealing a tiny bathroom, but Thelma couldn’t even see a sink, just a huge tub of hand sanitizer standing on the toilet tank.

Thelma tried the fridge, and was pleased to find it was well-stocked with identical nondescript glass bottles. Most were milk, but the bottom shelf had cream, as well. No cheese that she could tell, or local jam or the like. Ah, well. Milk would do. She grabbed a bottle, as well as a cream to justify the drive out of her way, and brought them to the counter. They each bore a price tag of just a few dollars, and she fished the remaining cash out of her wallet, rounding up and dropping it into the jar. It was apparently honors system, but she wasn’t going to bother to reach in for change.

Tucking both bottles under her arm, Thelma walked back to the door and pulled the handle. It didn’t budge. Was it a push door? No, that didn’t do it, either. She tried jiggling the handle, but it had absolutely no give. As far as she could tell, it was simply locked.

Looking around the room, Thelma realized for the first time that there were no windows in the shack. Something between panic and embarrassment crept into her chest. Taking her phone out of her pocket, she knew before she even looked that she wouldn’t have any service. Hoping it would work this time, she put the bottles down and tried the handle with both hands, then again, and again.

She could see from her phone that it had only been about ten minutes, but the fear of being stuck had already outweighed the embarrassment of needing to be let out. She hadn’t seen any other buildings when she parked but she knocked on the door, giving an awkward sort of “Hey!,” as it turned to kicking.

Thelma started going through scenarios. It was Sunday afternoon. Could she possibly be stuck there all night? The milk was fresh; she told herself that someone had to come by soon to check the till, or restock, or clean, or something. But the fear of the uncertainty started to take over. She gave the door one more kick and sank to the floor, staring at her phone and trying to will the reception bars to start filling up.

She needed a minute. She needed a break. Remembering the milk bottle next to her, she picked it up and twisted the cap off. Fuck it. She had paid for it, but even if she hadn’t, the farmers owed her for not somehow warning her that the door locked from the outside. Still feeling embarrassment, and her fear turning into anger, she took a sip.

Whoa. That was really good milk. If she ever got home, she was going to go to town on a glass and plate of cookies. Thelma took another sip, and then a gulp. “This has got to have some calories,” she thought darkly. “Maybe I won’t starve to death.”

At that thought, Thelma felt her head begin to tingle, then full-on buzz. Was she low on oxygen? No, she was right by the door, and there was a plenty of space above the floor to let air in. After a moment, the feeling faded. Great, the stress was already getting to her. Thelma took another mouthful of milk.

The buzz came back. It wasn’t dizziness, exactly, though she was glad to be sitting down. It was more like a hum, like a light switch inside her brain had switched on. Adrenaline, maybe? As stressed out as she was, it was a nice feeling. Thelma had another gulp of milk, letting herself savor it on her tongue.

She was going to be fine. This was going to be an embarrassing story, sure, but something she knew she would laugh about someday. She gave a little laugh at the thought, actually, and toasted the air with her milk bottle as she continued to drink.

What had she even been worried about? She was just vibing, having the best milk she had ever tasted. Her compliments to the cow. Thelma giggled again at that, taking another —

Oh, the bottle was empty. Did she want to get up and get another? She was so comfortable on the floor — warm, like getting a hug from the inside. She noticed the bottle of cream, and didn’t even hesitate to crack it open. Why the fuck not? It was a party!

The moment the cream touched Thelma’s tongue, her lips instinctively wrapped about the lip of the bottle, trying to guzzle as much cream as she could take. Dimly, she finally made the connection between drinking and the feeling. This was the milk but inside her whole body. She could feel it in her mouth, and down her throat, and in her stomach, lighting her up along the way. Instead of the buzz in her head, there was a heat. It was like liquid sex. It was better.

Thelma had to pause and breathe as she went, and each moment she did so she heard herself give a little moan. Trickles of cream ran down the sides of her mouth to her shirt, but she barely noticed. She was attached to the bottle, like plugging into a socket that electrified her whole body.

And then it subsided again. Finally taking the bottle out of her mouth, she saw that she had chugged all the cream, as well. She also realized that her hand was in her pants. Blindly weighing two needs, she played with her clit until she came while sucking the fabric of her shirt, hoping to get some final few drops.

There was more. She remembered there was was so much more, and she focused her gaze across the room. Getting up seemed like so much work, and the fridge seemed so far. As a compromise, Thelma scooted along the floor on her butt, leaning up to open the fridge door when she got close enough. Just seeing those bottles made her moan again, low, and wanting.

Finally, a coherent thought popped into her head. She finally had a moment where she had to make a decision: Milk or cream?

Milk. It had been longer. She missed it, the way it went down so smoothly. A tiny thought asked if she would make herself sick, but she felt fine. Full, sure, with her belly pushing a bit against her jeans. She pushed them down and began to drink.

The head buzz came back stronger than ever, and Thelma stifled another laugh so she could keep drinking, chugging the milk now. Milk. Milk. Milk. The thought was clear, but singular. The buzz was so loud and so nice and wiped away everything else. No more thoughts. No more milk.

Thelma pawed at the cream bottle now, momentarily unsure of how to get it open. Then, instinct kicked in, and she managed to grip the cap and twist. The sexy feeling came roaring back, stronger than ever, but the milk buzz didn’t stop, either. They roared together and Thelma drank and writhed on the floor, blind with desire.

When the cream was done, Thelma felt discomfort for the first time. Her clothes were constrictive, her stomach and breasts both swollen and straining against them. She awkwardly, gradually wriggled out of them, crying and moaning and licking drops of milk off the floor as she went. The bra was a struggle but she eventually pulled it off.

Now naked, she played with herself and reached up into the fridge, not caring what she grabbed. Once again letting instinct take over to open the bottle, she realized it was milk. Good. Milk was good.

This bottle of milk went more slowly. The buzz in her head was so loud and while the milk seemed to slide effortlessly down her throat, Thelma could hardly do anything to suck the way she had before. Lying on the floor, she idly touched a heaving breast and felt the sensation shoot through her, but she only vaguely processed it. The buzzing had a thickness, and her vision began to blur. With a fading thought, she looked up longingly at the bottom shelf of the open fridge, still with a few bottles of cream left.

When the milk was gone, Thelma looked up dumbly at the ceiling and started to moan.

It was sometime later that the door to the shack finally opened. Thelma didn’t notice, nor did she notice someone lean down and put a collar with a bell around her neck. What brought her back to awareness was the feeling of a bottle nipple in her mouth, and like a machine turning on, her head and body both felt a rush of heat and rose to meet it. It was mostly water, but it had a spot of milk in it, too. And cream.

Thelma moaned into the bottle as she felt someone else tug at her nipple. Blind with pleasure, she didn’t even notice milk squirt out of her own breast. She didn’t notice herself rolled onto a gurney, or the evening air as she was finally taken out of the shack, or the jingle of the bell around her neck as she continued to suck on the bottle.

Later, when she had been properly tended to, she would be able to notice these things again, able to learn new things, all about how to be a good cow, to turn her moans into moos and give herself up for milking and breeding. But right now, her mind was off and her body was on and she was doing exactly what she needed to. All that she knew how.