When you awoke Saturday, the first thing you noticed was the immense pressure coming from your udder. It had ballooned in size overnight compared to when you first woke up at the parlor, signifying it was full. With great care, you got up, got dressed, attached your saddlebags, packed your frontal bag with today’s meals, and chowed down.
You’d felt brave enough to try going down the stairs, but you quickly realized that your udder was sagging enough to make it catch on every step, giving a pang of pressure alongside a jolt of cold. You only got down four steps before giving up and retreating back to your floor to use the elevator.
The elevator detected your weight class and upshifted to keep the cables from snapping, which greatly reduced the speed at which it descended. Perhaps it was the pressure in your udder or perhaps it was the years of knowing exactly how long the elevator should’ve taken, but you were in agony by the time the doors finally opened. There were a couple people waiting at the bottom, but they waited until you left.
You saved a full minute by nearly galloping your way from the complex to the relief station. With a quick brush of your hand over the detector, the Future Farms database confirmed your identity as a valid milk-provider and the doors swung open. With the VR training under your belt, you got yourself hooked to the station and experienced the first real-world milking. The VR version may have blown your mind, but the real thing felt even better! Maybe it was because you never felt fullness or the need for release in the virtual world, but you were glad that it wasn’t oversold. Eight minutes later, and you were 22 kilos lighter from all the milk pulled out of you.
After that, you went to the market to stock up on more of those grass disks. You’d seen them at the supermarket, but they were always locked behind an ID-locked case to prevent tampering. Now, you had the means to open it, and a need. The parlor only provided enough food for part of yesterday and today, and you’d prefer to only buy groceries once per week.
Since you already knew where to go, you wasted little time in navigating the market and opening the shelves. It seemed Future Farms knew how to package them right, since they were sold in sets of 9. You loaded one after the next into your saddlebags, one for each day, then realized around 8 that things were starting to feel heavy. Looking over the packaging, you were shocked to see a full pack of nine was over 20 kilos! It was like you were carrying an adult man in each saddlebag, and you were still standing!
You didn’t want to test your luck, so you stopped at 8 packs. You had to go through a manual checkout since your credit cards were still linked to your old DNA signature, but thankfully the cashier was nice and scanned the same pack 8 times instead of forcing you to fish out all of them, just put them back afterward. A full week of food, and it only cost a little over 4 dollars a day. You were going to make some serious savings at this rate.
You went up the stairs again to drop off your groceries, though your saddlebags caused you to bump into both rails constantly. You tried spending some more time browsing the internet, but you were feeling a little stir-crazy after being holed up all day yesterday so you decided to wander the streets for a while.
You did some people-spotting, noting the surprising number of people with very minor gene mods, like eye colors, ears, and tails. There was one person that you thought had a tattoo sleeve, but it was real scales. However, the furs were definitely not out in number, or they were covering up well enough that you didn’t notice.
When it got close to the evening, you went to a fur-friendly bar and found all the furs. It was like a zoo with all the variety, and somewhat ironically, they were all back at you pretty often, too. Nobody approached, but after a few drinks your udder was full enough to start complaining, and you headed out.
Your Saturday ended with an evening milking session, followed by some at-home internet browsing.
Sunday was far less eventful, as you spent 8 hours waiting in lines at the DMV to update your certs. You could mail it in, but it takes 12 to 18 business weeks and there were too many horror stories of them losing the proof in the mail, forcing people to split one of the remaining proofs and wait another few months. In person, you could physically watch them input it into the system and get the name of whoever takes your proof.
After your morning milking, you realized that you should probably shower in the mornings to keep yourself presentable at work, so you should factor in how long that took. After undressing and storing your shirt and barding, you donned the provided goggles and stood on the conveyor. Inside, you were sprayed down by hoses from all directions. hit with shampoo-coated scrubbers, sprayed down again, then hit with two wraparounds designed to dry you off to some degree. The final area was a wind tunnel, which caused your fur to fluff and curl outward to an embarrassing degree.
It felt ridiculous to go naked through what amounted to a car wash, but you definitely felt clean and it was fast. It wouldn’t impact your sleep schedule to get it done.
The DMV wasn’t too bad for you outside of the baseline suffering, but you felt bad for the person behind you. At one point, the line was made to move backward a little, and they weren’t paying attention which resulted in some unwanted contact with you if their multiple sounds of disgust were accurately gauged. They gave you a wide berth after that and kept avoiding eye contact, and you really didn’t know what to do after the initial apology.
However, that was all in the past. Today was your first day back at work in your new form, and you hadn’t told anyone outside of HR about your impending changes. Nobody had mentioned much of anything when you’d brought in the taur-friendly cushion last Thursday and filled your cubicle with it, but then again, rumors tend to avoid the person they’re about.