Ko-fi Mature Content Elijah stands there, frozen with a wad of dollar bills in hand, eyes wide and mouth open. “D…dad?!” he croaks. Of course heads turn, my colleagues and some of my best repeat customers in the queue behind glancing around for who this ‘dad’ could be. Certainly not the beautiful young girl whose bodily fluids they imbibe twice a day. Boy, am I in trouble. I’ve told nobody about my daily change, not my family, not my employer, and certainly not my customers. If they discover they've been guzzling the juice of a 50-year old father... “Keep your voice down,” I whisper pleadingly, snatching his cash, slamming it into the till, and dragging him away to a discreet booth as quick as I can. “The hell is going on?!” he yells. “I can explain,” I beg, almost in tears. And so I do. The whole sordid story. Not that it stops him looking at me like that of course - a mix of disbelief, disgust and -undeniably- the flickers of lust. He can't help it, as much as he tries. His eyes are naturally drawn to the excesses of my female body. Perhaps I notice his expression soften as I explain the motive, how I exchanged myself for the food on the table each night, how my 'milk money' had paid for his college fund. He looks a little guilty at that. “But how are you so young?” His eyes rove over me again. I blush, unconsciously tightening the velcro strap securing my milk-engorged breasts. “There’s a senolytic in the feminization agent. It knocks 20 years off me,” I whisper. I frown. “How did you even recognise me like this, that’s what I want to know.” "Honestly? Looking at you now? I don’t know." He shrughs. "It was just a feeling. The eyes I guess... Does mom know?” My blood runs cold. You could milk iced coffee out of me. I shake my head vehemently. "Promise you won't tell her." I raised him too well, I realise as I see the conflict on his face. 'Honesty is the best policy', I always told him. I guess you never plan for this eventuality as a father. We're interrupted by the shadow of my boss, Dennis, looming over the booth. I cower back. If the barista girls are the cows here, he's like the farmer, and manages us much as one might livestock. He glances at his watch, turning to us. "And how are you enjoying your beverage today?" he asks Elijah pointedly. "Oh, n-no, w-we were just talking, sir," I interject. "It's fine. He's already paid." “If he's paid, Kimberly, then why aren't you serving him?" I cringe at the use of my working name, further humiliation burning my coffee-coloured cheeks as he talks to me like a child in front of my own son, and I take it, kowtowing to this man out of desperate need for this job. This is rock bottom for me. There's no way this could get worse. “You know the policy, Kimberly," Dennis snaps. "Five minutes per customer. No more. We've a queue half a mile long here. Just because you're a poor milker is no excuse. Give the customer his drink and move on.” "B-but-!" "If you’ve time to speak, you’ve time to leak." His fingers snatch the nursing bra's velcro opening and rip it open, my full tits bursting free of their constraints to plop on the tabletop. With an air of irritated impatience, he puts his other hand on my son’s shoulder, firmly guided his head down. Elijah opens his mouth to protest. His lips lock around my glistening areola, the engorged teat resting on his tongue. Dennis grips the underside of my breast roughly, squeezing and palpating the soft flesh with the practiced hand of a dairy farmer. “No!” I cry but it is too late - Elijah's cheeks bulge as a jet of caffeinated milk fills his mouth. Trapped there, he can only stare up at me with apology in his eyes as my warm milk trickles down his throat. A part of him is disgusted. But I never tried myself, never learned how good I taste. Maybe I'm not the most productive cow in the coffee shop when compared to the real girls, but what I lack in quantity I make up for in quality. I'm the sweetest... the creamiest... Irresistable... Slowly… he swallows…