The Milk Farmer

by Mark Andrews

  Title Page

  THE MILK FARMER

  By Mark Andrews

  Kinks Books is an imprint

  of W&H Publishing LLP.

  Publisher Information

  This eBook edition published by Kink Books is an imprint of W&H Publishing LLP, Foresters Hall, 25-27 Westow Street, London, SE19 3RY.

  Digital edition converted and published

  by Andrews UK Limited 2012

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Previously published by The Olympia Press

  PO Box 148, Ryde, Isle of Wight, PO33 9BE.

  Copyright © Mark Andrews

  The right of Mark Andrews to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead and is purely coincidental.

  This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by the way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, electronically copied, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent.

  The Milk Farm

  Mabuchi strolled along the gallery around the huge room, staring down at the twin rows of naked humans being milked - and smiled in satisfaction. Oh yes, he had now arrived at his dream. This was what he had wanted ever since he had been old enough to understand such things. Not that he had ever mentioned it, of course. He had been a dutiful son, going to university and obtaining his pharmaceutical and industrial chemistry degrees then joining his father’s middle-ranking chemical company and working diligently under his father’s direction.

  And then, after only two years, his father had suddenly died leaving him the company. For the next ten years, he had built it into a leading pharmaceutical company while at home, secretly pursuing his own private agenda.

  He hadn’t married. He didn’t intend to - not for some time, for a wife would interfere with his aims.

  After ten years at the helm of the company, he sold it, becoming instantly a very, very wealthy young man. Now he was free to pursue his private agenda and as he stared down from the gallery of the vast milking room he had reason to be proud of his achievements.

  The fifty females and similar number of males down there right now were only a quarter of his ‘herd’. The rest were variously engaged either at exercise to keep their fine young bodies in superlative condition or at tasks to operate and maintain the farm.

  All his life, Mabuchi had dreamed of owning slaves. Hundreds of them. Perfect young human beings all totally at his mercy. Not that he possessed much of that. He had a sadistic streak in his make-up that had craved to be itched ever since puberty. He delighted in shaming and humiliating the foreigners his agents kidnapped and shipped to him, stripping them stark naked in an almost ceremonial manner and forcing them to grovel at his feet before putting them into the training program that would eventually lead to their becoming a part of the herd.

  But now, having foregone sexual pleasure all his life in the pursuit of his goals, he was able to indulge himself to his heart’s content in the playroom he had built adjacent to his bedroom. The slaves learned very early to fear being selected as his pleasure slave for the night for he delighted in inflicting bizarre tortures on their flesh before raping them violently. The young males of the herd were just as likely to be selected as the girls for he was quite ambidextrous when it comes to sex.

  The farm was located on a remote and otherwise deserted island in the Sea of Japan. He had been very careful in selecting it as being largely inaccessible for he didn’t want strangers visiting it once he had set up his enterprise. He informed the local authorities that he was setting up a research establishment to investigate highly dangerous but potentially beneficial products and with his high profile as the former owner of a chemicals company, he was believed and promised every support in keeping the island off-limits.

  Not that he needed much. Apart from a small beach, the whole island was situated on a craggy elevation; a plateau some two hundred feet up from the sea. The only way up from the beach was by a crude elevator operated only from the top.

  The island was some fifty acres in all and quite barren. It had never been occupied for it didn’t even have a source of fresh water and the sparse soil supported nothing but some stunted bushes and a little grass.

  Mabuchi installed a seawater conversion plant when he built his fortress-like factory in the middle of the island but all food had to be imported. It came in by his helicopter; everyone else kept their distance from the island for he made sure the rumours of biological experimentation were well known locally.

  His staff were people whom he had cultivated over the years as being of like mind to himself and he paid them very well. So well making sure that the outrageous salaries bought their silence. He also compromised them in other ways. They were made part of the degradation and torture of the slave-herd and had sexual use of them as well - in a pecking order that started with him and went down the ranks to the lowest of the slave guards. None would dare to even speak of the island on his leave periods.

  He descended from the gallery to the floor of the milking room, moving first behind the row of males being milked of their sperm. Like the females who were in a similar line facing them, the males were on all fours, their middles being kept up high by a long steel bar that went the length of the room. The males had marched in, all naked of course, for no slave on the island was ever permitted even the smallest of rags to cover even his or her sexual organs. Their hands were, as always, clasped up behind their heads with their elbows well back, exposing their whole bodies to all and they marched in with military precision as a slouch or a missed step met with a painful punishment that night.

  Upon reaching their station, the slaves halted, again with military precision and turned left, dropped to their knees and took up position over the milking cup. On the other side of the room, the line of girls had marched in with the same precision, their breasts and bottoms bouncing as they moved. They too turned on cue to face their male counterparts, dropped to their knees and assumed a position on their hands and knees so that their breasts were right over the twin plastic cups that would shortly move up and suck them in tight, just as the single cup, shaped to accommodate the longest fattest penis but designed to accommodate the smallest as well, would shortly move up and gobble up the males’ members.

  Each of the hundred slaves now waited - in fear but also with resignation, for the breast or penis cups to move up and suck in the appropriate organs. In fear because the milking process was painful; but in resignation, too, for each knew he or she had no choice but to accept - and with good grace, his or her lot. Failure to smile met with the same horrible punishment as a missed step or a slouching body.

  They didn’t know it but each would spend a period of up to two years on the island, the actual term depending on the copiousness of his or her daily offerings. After that, they would be sold as sex slaves which was another reason Mabuchi ensured each was trained by the best he could find in the sexual arts.

  Their bodies were superb, crafted by another expert to be the best possible. Not to achieve huge muscles, of course, but an overall shape and muscle tone that gave them the appearance of world-class models.

  Each had been selected by his agents for their beauty and existing body-shape. No judgement could be made on their milk or sperm capacity but hormones could improve this and if that didn’t work, they would be trained as pleasure slaves and then sold on as soon as he or she had achieved a suitable standard.

  Mabuchi spent a great deal of time in this room, watching in
glee as the fifty males and females marched in, trained as well as the finest Marines to come out of boot camp, to do so with perfect precision and take up his or her place, turn, drop to hands and knees and wait for the machinery to go into action.

  He had spent a great deal of time and money designing it. It was really two vast milking machines, one to suck from the girls the milk of their breasts and the other to do the same with the boys’ sperm, the product of their testicles. Every slave on the island was milked night and morning in four sessions, each one taking about quarter to half an hour.

  This morning he watched as the buzzer sounded and the hundred pairs of udder cups moved up silently to envelop and then suck in hard the twin breasts of each girl while on the other side, the penile cups did the same - and woe betide any girl or boy who was not perfectly positioned to allow them access to the appropriate organ so they could do their work!

  Then, behind each girl and boy, another machine moved up and a large rubber dildo extended towards each set of buttocks. In the boys’ case, these were destined for their anal orifices and would vibrate and tickle them, producing feelings of pleasure in each boy to aid his sperm production. With the girls, the dildos were destined for their vaginas and these too produced sexual excitement in the girls.

  Unfortunately, the milking process itself was painful, the girls’ breasts being pressed and mauled by the inner membrane of the breast-cups while the boys’ penises were similarly rubbed painfully. The penis cups also had two electrode rings at their mouths and these stimulated the base of each cock, inflicting quite violent shocks into them. Without these shocks the pain of the action on the shafts of their cocks might well have inhibited their final discharge; with them, the flow was increased markedly.

  There were also the hormones that were fed by anal suppository into both girls and boys each morning. The male suppositories were designed to increase seminal discharge while the girls’ product brought them into lactation without the necessity of bearing a child while, at the same time, increasing their milk production.

  It was horribly degrading, of course, which was one of the reasons Mabuchi delighted in his farm so much. The constant nakedness, the precision marching, the inhuman exercising and chores but worst of all this machine-milking of their breasts and cocks while the hated Japanese strolled up and down behind them, giggling at their shame and pain, reaching down to fondle a silken-skinned, highly athletic body, be it female or male, as each was forced to give up their milk or sperm.

  The two rows were situated so the girls’ faces were right up close to the boys and the Japanese required them to kiss and lick each other right through the horrible milking. They were allowed to position themselves in the two lines so a girl and boy could choose his or her partner and so in many cases this was the one joy they had all day. Not that Mabuchi cared what they felt; it was just that if they felt pleasure during the milking, it added to their output - and output meant profits.

  Mabuchi wasn’t in this business for profits. Not really. But he had been a keen businessman and it offended his sense of commerce not to make a profit and so he tried to make sure the farm at least ran in neutral.

  It was a hell of a sight, though. Fifty girls on one side and the same number of boys on the other side, each being probed by a rubber dildo at his or her rear, exciting his anus or her clit and at the same time, each struggling to cope with the pain of the milking. He didn’t care one iota that it was painful for them - on the contrary, he delighted in observing their pain and often signalled to the technician to increase the vacuum on the sucking cups to make them suffer even more while he was there.

  At the same time, aware that pain forms a part of each person’s libido, he encouraged the guards patrolling up and down the twin lines of naked slaves to lash at their bottoms with the thin birches he kept in plentiful supply for the purpose. Not all the time, mind, but when the males were approaching discharge and the girls were beginning to flag in their milk offering, a couple of sharp strokes of the birch sapling to their bottoms helped immeasurably.

  As a result, there were delightful noises to be heard all through the milking process: groans as an aching cock began to ache even more; moans as a girl’s udders were mauled by the squeezing inner membranes of the breast cups; and shrill screams as bottoms felt the lash of the slender birch saplings.

  Both sets of milking cups were made of clear plastic, as were the inner membranes so Mabuchi and his technicians and guards could easily see the udders being pressed and squeezed as the suction drew out their milk. The boys’ cocks were sucked to mammoth proportions to fill the cup and rubbed by the constant up and down movement of the weighted cups on their virile members (the weight keeping the head of their cocks pointing down from their bellies), jerking up and down the shafts, back and forth while the anal dildo moved smoothly in and out of their rectums ...

  The two milking machines were masterpieces of ingenuity. Each separate unit was designed to suck to a girl or boy’s capacity and when it determined he or she was finished, it reduced the suction to a degree just sufficient to keep it in place and no more - otherwise it would have begun to draw out blood and that would have tainted the whole session’s milk or sperm offering and made it useless.

  When all male and females slaves were deemed finished, the machine buzzed, the dildos retracted and the milking cups fell away. A second buzz and the slaves were required to stand, in perfect timing and then turn and march out towards the two doors. Here stood two more technicians and as the lines of slaves approached, each had to stop, spread his and her legs, bend forward, grasp his or her cheeks and open them so another of the huge fat suppositories could be inserted into their rectums. Mabuchi could just as easily have designed an oral pill to do the same thing but suppositories were more shaming and he loved to shame his slaves.

  These were a form of tonic as well as more of the hormone to increase milk and sperm production ready for this evening’s milking. Now, as the technicians moved into the machines to move the two products from the holding tanks into the factory then clean them and rinse out the tubes ready for the next set of fifty male and female slaves to make their morning offering, this group moved to the gymnasium where they would begin the horribly arduous session that built and then maintained their bodies in perfect condition.

  Mabuchi followed them. He delighted in watching his trainers working on the slaves’ bodies as much as watching them milked for the play of the muscles on the bodies of both sexes was wonderful.

  And since they performed stark naked, he could see every aspect of their bodies. They really were naked; all body hair had been removed as part of their initiation into his horrible regime as he thought body hair detracted from their status as slaves. Those who bought them afterwards tended to agree. The smooth state of their skin added to the illusion of youth and of course so did their athletic physiques and finely wrought muscles.

  They were young - but not of an illegal age. Most were eighteen; some were up to twenty but none were older than that.

  Now as he watched the guards supervising them breaking up into the various groups, each in the charge of one of his many physical trainers, they began the routines that they hated so much but which quickly developed and maintained their superb bodies.

  They all performed warm-up exercises first but then while some worked on gymnastics equipment, others threw heavy medicine balls at one another, shinnied up and down ropes, performed tumbling exercises on the mats or worked on the weight machines. But none rested. They were hard at it from beginning to end. Even those who had delighted in punishing their bodies in their former lives were totally exhausted by each day’s training sessions. There were two of these and both followed their milking.

  In between, they did the housework, maintained the sparse gardens outside the building or were allocated as pony slaves to take Mabuchi, his senior managers at the farm and other employees being
favoured for some good work for a spin around the track that ran around the cliff-top of the island.

  Why did some of them not end it all by jumping over the cliff (and taking the hated Mabuchi or his man with them)? Because each wore around his or her neck an electronic collar. Once fitted, it could not be removed, or at least not by them. It was powered by a battery kept charged by an ingenious device that operated from the heat of their bodies and its function was to control them.

  Each slave was branded with a number on his or her left buttock and each tech or guard had a controller. If you were taking a slave for a spin around the island you programmed the controller with the slave’s number before you mounted the gig on which you sat and then you had the choice of three other buttons: the green one gave a mild shock - just a warning; the yellow one was very painful and made the slave writhe around in agony; while the red one actually rendered them unconscious. At the first sign the ‘pony’ was heading off the track, a yellow shock was enough to warn them to get back on it. If they persisted, a touch of the red button and they were down on their knees or bellies, screaming horribly until the shock knocked them unconscious.

  It took but a call on the cell-phone and guards were there to collect the recalcitrant and schedule him or her for a week of real punishment. More about that later.

  Mabuchi strolled around the gymnasium, watching as the girls and boys were exercised, admiring the gleam of their sweat-streaked bodies under the glaring lights in the gym, the rippling of their beautifully toned (but not too big) muscles and the wanton display of their sexual organs, the boys all now limp of course after their milking but the girls still excited by the proximity of the naked and so handsome young studs working alongside them, for there was no difference to the exercises they all performed, the girls swinging around on the parallel and horizontal bars and leaping over the boxes and horse with as much skill as the boys.