I: Capture

     Moolanie awoke groggily. She had been napping, or something. She felt so cozy, filled with the warmth that makes it hard to get out of bed. Was this her bed? No. Too cozy. Slowly, she remembered.
     That morning (or the last morning she could remember) she had driven to a beautiful and expansive estate; the headquarters of a human trafficking operation. The best thing about human trafficking are the bases of operations. The typical headquarters for illegal activity are private residences, and those that can afford to manage human traffic rings tend toward the obscenely rich.
She was to meet with Mr. Brown, whose job, as far as she knew, was simply to be the obscenely rich owner of said estate, and to pass along information.
Her name wasn’t Moolanie! Moolanie isn’t even a name. What was her name?
She saw herself in Mr. Brown’s office.
     “Hello, Ms.-”
     “Ah-buh-luh. Abele.” Abele!
     He began to explain why she was needed. Why was she needed?
     He revealed the new item. Genetic engineering, or something? It- she- looked highly unusual. She was a round one, Abele had worked with those before. But this was different… for starters, the subject was clearly wearing some form of fetish-suit designed to look like a cow, complete with tail, horn, and a very convincing, very full-looking udder. And her body- extremely plump, certainly weighed more than three hundred, but it was so firm. No sag anywhere. Not even in the face, which couldn’t be explained away as being supported by latex or whatever material this girl was wearing.
     Why had she thought ‘Moolanie’?
     “Her name’s ‘Moobelle’. She’s currently one of my favorites.” Moobelle had been utterly blank faced. Probably drugged, or a fetishist herself. Girls who were the “products” were rarely this calm without chemical assistance. She just stood there, face expressionless, loudly chewing on a big mouthful of something.
-A vague recollection of being dragged off, kicking -too many, overwhelming- One of the security henchmen knocked her down and put something in her mouth that stuck to all sides and made her whole body relax as she chewed. She wouldn’t cooperate? With what?
They tore off her clothes, she remembered, and stretched some rubbery garment from her toes up to her shoulders. Then there was a tickling, tingling sensation that was everywhere at once- like pin pricks everywhere, everything stung again and again until it felt like a fire. And then it faded until she went limp and must have fallen asleep.
      And then she was there. Where? She looked around. She looked down. She was dressed in that cow-print. And in a dentist office. No, not a dentist office; no dental equipment, slightly different chair. But the feel was the same- save for the restraints: each of her hands was wrapped in a tight leather mitten, locked at the wrist. Each was fastened to the ceiling and pulled taut, allowing no arm movement on her part. Her feet were in a similar position; each strapped down securely. She gave a hard yank against the chair and ceiling, getting a loud rattle in return.
     A metal door opened behind her. She heard footsteps, and something on wheels being pushed forwards. Fear welled up inside her, but she had known that henchmen of someone like Mr. Brown would not hesitate to knock out a captive, should she put up a fight.
     A man wearing a medical face-mask and nurse scrubs stood before her. He briefly looked her over, before pulling from somewhere behind her a long tube. She thought back to that poor cow-looking woman she saw in Mr. Brown’s office. If what she thought was happening was, in fact, happening, then at least some of her questions as to the nature of Mr. Brown’s project would be answered. The man had finished spreading a lubricant jelly along the length of the tube. “Open”, he said. She did. She only gagged a little bit as it slid into her throat. The man walked behind her out of view again, and activated the mechanism at the other end of the tube. Abele felt a thick, smoothie-like substance began to pump into her throat. She tried to think about something else, but there was nothing else to think about. She would soon be another specimen; one of those enormously round, bipedal cow-women? Relief from her distress came in the loss of consciousness.
      And now she was here.