Mara

Mara stands behind the counter of the small café, trembling. She is 18 years old, freshly enslaved only three hours ago. Her new owner — a strict free woman who runs the café — has already dressed her according to the law: nothing but high heels and a tight black collar. Her large, heavy breasts are completely exposed. Her pussy is perfectly shaved, as required. Her brown hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders. She has an undeniably feminine, hourglass figure with wide hips and a narrow waist.

She was supposed to work as a barista and living milk supplier. The owner had already connected suction cups to her sensitive nipples and linked them to the high-end coffee machine. Every time a customer orders a latte, the machine pulls warm milk directly from Mara’s tits. The humiliation burns deeper than she ever imagined.

Tears stream down her face. Her secret feminist beliefs, carefully hidden for years, scream inside her head. *This cannot be my life. I am a person. I am not livestock.*

Her hands shake as she reaches under the counter and grabs the large kitchen knife. The blade presses coldly against her throat. One quick motion and it will all be over. She closes her eyes, ready to die.

The door to the café bursts open.

Two policewomen storm in — tall, muscular, and dressed in tight black uniforms that leave most of their skin exposed. Their eyes lock onto Mara instantly.

“Drop the knife, cunt!” one of them barks.

Mara hesitates for half a second. That is all they need.

The first policewoman leaps over the counter and slams her fist into Mara’s stomach. The air explodes out of her lungs. The second grabs her wrist and twists it violently. The knife clatters to the floor. They drag Mara out from behind the counter and throw her onto the hard tiles.

The beating begins immediately.

They kick her in the ribs, the stomach, and the thighs. One officer stomps on her large breasts with her heavy boot, grinding the heel into the soft flesh. Mara screams in agony as pain explodes through her chest. They punch her face repeatedly, splitting her lip and swelling her eye. Blood runs down her chin.

“You stupid fucking suicide slut,” one policewoman hisses while punching Mara in the kidney. “You don’t get to decide when you die. Your body belongs to the state now.”

They flip her onto her stomach, yank her arms behind her back, and cuff her wrists so tightly the metal cuts into her skin. One officer sits on her back, grinding her face into the dirty floor while the other continues kicking her sides.

The senior officer pulls out her phone and makes a call.

“Yes, Captain… We have a fresh one. 18 years old. Just tried to slit her throat… Yes, very big tits. Heavy producers, I’d say… Understood. We’ll prepare her for transport to the dairy farm.”

She hangs up and smiles down at the bleeding, sobbing girl.

“Congratulations, Mara. The Captain says those fat udders of yours are wasted on coffee. You’re going to become a proper cow. No more walking. No more arms. Just milk and babies for the next 4 years.”

Mara tries to scream, but a hard slap across her face silences her. The policewomen drag her naked, bleeding body out of the café and throw her into the back of a reinforced transport van. They chain her spread-eagle to the floor, ankles and wrists locked in place.

As the van drives off toward the countryside, one of the policewomen squats over Mara’s face and pisses directly into her mouth.

“Drink up, future cow. You’ll need the fluids.”

Mara chokes and cries, her body shaking with terror and pain. The last remnants of her old life disappear with every kilometer that brings her closer to the farm.

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