I’m having a manic episode and swiftly admitted to a locked ward. I’m put in restraints where I keep bucking and screaming until I’m sedated. I’m kept in various levels of sedation, still strapped to the hospital bed. I recognize that I’m nude and have electrodes (12 lead) placed between and under my breasts. The conductive jelly feels warm and with every breath I take, wires move just so over my skin.
The beeping of the heart monitor is the loudest thing in the antiseptic white room. Different numbers of doctors appear over me, having muted conversations over my restrained body. I can’t make out their faces, but I can determine their outlines. I give a weak pull at my restraints and try to speak, but all I give are groans and incoherent vocals. An anesthesia mask is placed over my face and I fall into a deep sleep.
I wake up under bright lights, strapped to a smaller bed. I’m a bit more awake and see three doctors setting up equipment. The lights are moved away from my face and I recognize that I’m in an operating theatre, with a few shadows of people on the other side of the glass. All three in the room are wearing surgical masks so I can’t make out their faces. Two position themselves on either side of me. Smaller electrodes are placed on my chest and I hear the familiar beeping. The third doctor is at my head and rubbing conductive jelly on my temples. My straps are undone, but I’m too sluggish. Strong hands hold me down by my arms. A bite block is placed in my mouth, followed by electrodes at my temples. A hand on my chin holds my head back. Someone tells me to breathe. My chest starts heaving, sliding my breasts apart. There’s a continuous loud beep and before I can attempt to look at the source, white-hot pain shoots through my body. A muffled scream chases me down into unconsciousness.
My second fantasy is that I’m having yet another episode, and I’m strapped to the bed in the ER, waiting to be transferred to the ward. Doctors come in and out, a few talking amongst themselves as they ignore my screaming and kicking. I’m injected with a sedative and everything goes black.
I wake up, still sluggish and see a woman doctor standing over me. I’m out of the ER and in a single white room. She tells me that my vitals were taken while I was asleep and after checking prior hospital records, see that I have no friends or family who are likely to look for me. Based on her findings, she says I’m the perfect candidate for a forced lactation experiment she’s conducting, and I can forget leaving this hidden hospital wing ever again.
I’m kept under various levels of sedation, so often that I can hardly speak. Most of the time, I’m rendered numb, made accessible to every doctor that works over my body. I’m not allowed a gown, kept nude in a climate-controlled environment. I’m kept alive via IV and water slipped down my throat. In between daily vitals (stethed, urine samples, etc.), I’m given various injections to my breasts and nipples.
Eventually, I produce small streams of milk. My breasts haven’t gotten any larger, but I feel them sagging significantly- the weight shifting toward my areolae and nipples. My treatment escalates with electrical stimulation to my breasts to test its effects. I’m hooked up to a dual breast pump for hours at a time.
The female doctor leads me to another room, where a steel goat milker is set up on a frame. I’m strapped to the frame, with the tubes just under my hanging breasts. She runs her fingers through my hair, attaching small electrodes at set points, securing them with a stick substance. A few are placed across my forehead. She tells me to close my eyes and simply listen to her voice. She says my brain is probably soft enough for this session to go quickly. She tells me I no longer have breasts or nipples, I have udders and teats and that’s all I’ll be described as such. She starts the suction and places the teat cups on my nipples. The suction hurts, but the rhythmic pulling eventually feels pleasurable. The doctor’s voice over the noise of the EEG machine implants itself deep in my brain. When I’m finally disengaged from the milking machine and restrained to the bed in my room, I take notice of my dark, very extended teats.
I’m brought into the milking room again the next day, only this time, there are a handful of doctors there and they are all focusing on me. I’m locked into the machine again, a muddy sense of happiness coursing through my body as my let down begins. The female doctor gives her final report, declaring this experiment a success. After a few minutes, I’m removed from the machine and placed on all fours on the floor. Different hands milk my udders, pulling them down, my teats grazing the floor. The female doctor comes down to take a quick measurement of my chest. She takes a minute to roll my wet, milky teats between her fingers.