Dahlia's a dead-broke former hotshot who can't land a new job. When an experimental dairy farm fast-tracks her recruitment, she is ecstatic over the fantastic pay and great benefits. What will she do when she realizes there are more to the benefits than she expected - and that she's locked into three months of being milked, forced to act like an animal? Explicit sexual content, all characters 18+. A steamy new series from taboo erotica author Velvet O'Meara! For the open-minded only. EXCERPT: That night, Dahlia laid in bed, freshly scrubbed and damp from the long, hot shower she'd taken. She hadn't bothered to put clothes back on, preferring instead to slip naked in between the cool satin sheets. Her nipples were stiff against the sheet draped over her body, and she could feel how wet she was whenever she moved her legs. She didn't know exactly why she was so turned on, only that the idea of being milked, of being trained to become - how had the nurse put it? - one of the finest sources, drove her half crazy with need. Dahlia hadn't dated much since her divorce, and although she'd been with a couple of guys, the experiences had been so lackluster she hadn't felt much like bothering. Not that she had any lack of offers, by any means; she could barely take a trip to the corner store or gas station without at least one man trying to hit on her, even without makeup. She was hyper-aware of her nipples, highly sensitive and tuned directly into her clit. When Dahlia pulled on them, both hands on her breasts, she imagined what it might feel like to be hooked up to a machine programmed to extract milk from her. Her breasts, already large, would be even bigger, distended and tender with their burden, aching for relief. Her right hand slipped between her legs and she pushed her middle finger up inside her pussy. Dahlia was already wet enough to drip, and she could feel the hot trail of it leaking down into the crack of her tight, toned ass. Her left hand didn't stop pulling at her nipples. Or maybe, because it was an organic farm, she wondered, would she be milked by hand? She pictured a dark, handsome man, his hands massaging her breasts, pulling at the nipples. They would be engorged with blood, the areolas an even darker brown than usual, and his touch on them would feel as if he were stroking her clit. She wouldn't be able to hide her reaction, Dahlia knew. In her mind, she looked up into his eyes from her place on the floor on her hands and knees, and he would give her an eager look only lightly disguised under a veneer of clinical professionalism. He would lean over her, breath tickling the hair by her ear, and whisper, "Give it to me, Dahlia. I want to taste your sweet milk. Please, I need to taste it!"