The Milk Farmer

by Mark Andrews

  Of course it wasn’t his fault. He had no idea when they were going to hit; the computer that ran the male milking machine decided that ... but I didn’t back away. His lips were just so sweet and his breath was clean and fresh. I wanted him more and more with every passing second.

  I don’t know how long the milking process took. I guessed it was something between fifteen minutes and half an hour. All I know is that I was sorry when it was over for although the mauling and sucking of my breasts had hurt considerably, I knew I wanted more of Mikate’s sweet mouth and the excitement of my sex by the dildo behind me. I would have preferred it to have been Mikate’s cock of course but it wasn’t and the dildo did the job very nicely while I could enjoy his lips on mine.

  But the buzzer sounded eventually and the dildos retracted while the breast cups fell away. We had to rise, again in unison, form up into twin lines and then, with hands properly placed up behind our heads and elbows pulled right back, we had to march out of the room and go to our work stations to perform whatever chores were allocated to us.

  First though, another of the hateful suppositories.

  On reaching the door, each pair had to stop, spread our feet, bend over and pull our cheeks wide open so the technician could insert the enormous cigar-shaped objects into our backsides, watching gleefully as the anus closed over the end then slap our cheeks (they were careful to slap the right cheek on us newcomers as the wound of the brand on our left was still quite angry) signifying we could straighten up and proceed.

  Our chores were many and varied. We did the housework, of course, or worked in the kitchens preparing the food into the tasteless gunk that we ate night and morning. We also worked out in what passed for a garden on that desolate island or helped the maintenance men look after the machinery. I didn’t mind this work at all for it was often different. They had to find something for nearly four hundred of us to do and so quite often we would be herded outside in the biting chill of the bleak wind that always seemed to howl around the craggy elevation and move stones to form pleasing patterns.

  Like the rest of them there, I hated it when I had to go outside. The factory was hardly cosy but it was as snug as a bug in a rug when compared to being made to go outside.

  In the afternoon there was more exercise but also we had lessons in sex. What for, I had no idea - then. But even this I found interesting. I was hardly promiscuous as a university student but I had experimented a little with some of my boyfriends and I had found the result less than satisfactory. What I began to learn there put a whole new meaning on sex ... especially as were allowed to choose our partners and Mikate and me always made a pair when it was male/female; and Dana and I teamed up when it was lesbian sex that was being taught for they certainly made us learn that as well as heterosexual sex.

  I was appalled at first for I had never - and I mean that - not ever, thought of a girl in a sexual way but once I tried it and realised the wrath of God was not going to descend on me, I found it quite pleasant. Not nearly as good as with Mikate, of course, but pleasant enough, especially as it brought me closer to Dana whom I was more and more thinking of as a real friend in that awful place.

  I didn’t love her, except perhaps in a platonic sense as I had begun to love Mikate, but I did like her a lot. What the sex lessons meant of course was that I experienced my beautiful Mikate in a proper way, not just his lips. I didn’t stop to think why Mabuchi was bothering to train us as sex objects. I should have, but I didn’t. I merely took it all in and gloried in the practical sessions that followed the lectures.

  Mikate was more worldly-wise than I had been when it came to sex but it wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t been. Tomasa was as much an expert on sex as Toyonari was in the realms of physical education and the lessons he taught were quite incredible. He could take the crassest tyro and turn him or her into a sexpert of the highest excellence and just as I enjoyed the gym sessions (even if Toyonari did work us to the point of exhaustion half the time) I now found myself looking forward to these lessons - and not only because during them I got to make love to Mikate. I was genuinely interested in them - in the theory as well as the practice and of course keen to improve my sexual skills to make it better and better for Mikate.

  This brought us to later in the afternoon and it was time for our afternoon milking. I wondered what they did with the gallons of human milk they must have produced each morning and afternoon - and even more what the boys’ sperm was used for. Not for one minute could I have realised the truth - that Mabuchi actually processed our milk and sold it to rich Japanese men and that their women benefited from the skin cream he made from the boys’ sperm.

  Once more I had to join the team although none of us four new girls were giving them much milk yet. Never mind, it was another chance to delight in that dildo reaming in and out of my vagina and even better, Mikate’s lips on mine during the session. I didn’t even care when I felt the sparks fly between us. By now, after only a day and a half with him, I was in love with him and from his eyes I knew he was with me, too ...

  Of course we weren’t allowed to speak. Not even when we were making love together. Our love had to be shared silently and only our eyes and our lips (as well of course as our bodily contact as we made love) could demonstrate that love to each other.

  This time, though, the hormone must have begun to work, at least a little for I noticed a few squirts of my milk running down the little tube to join the main line leading into the next room. I was fascinated in one way for it had never occurred to me that my body would be able to produce milk until I bore a child but there it was, right before my eyes.

  Of course I could also see the tube coming out of Mikate’s penis-cup and every few minutes (how many precisely I have no idea for time was now a quite nebulous thing for us as we acted only on orders from the guards and the buzzers and bells that sounded from time to time to signal us to some new action) a few dollops of his sperm would jet down the small clear tube to join the main male suction tube that ran along the floor next to its female equivalent.

  Of course there was much more milk being sucked along that line than along the male one but as I watched the whole process I wondered yet again what on Earth our milk and the boys’ sperm was being used for. We newcomers found out that night for Mabuchi took us on a guided tour after the afternoon milking and I will tell of that tour in a moment.

  First, though, you may be wondering how the machine and its computer controlled our individual suction lines when they all fed into the main tube running along the floor between the lines of boys and girls being milked?

  It was quite simple actually. There was a crimping valve set on the plastic tube between our nipples and the main line and on our side of it, flow and suction level sensors. The flow sensor sent a signal to the computer when our flow dropped below a pre-determined level and then the crimping valve closed, reducing the suction. The suction sensor then monitored the level and the computer responded accordingly. All very ingenious ...

  Once the milking session was over, Mabuchi singled us six newcomers out and led us into his factories.

  We were all singularly appalled. The very idea of using human milk as a manufactured dairy product was so outrageous we could hardly credit it but I suspect the boys were even more horrified than we girls that their sperm was being used to create a beauty aid for very rich Japanese women who probably had no idea what was in the cream they smeared over their faces daily. Of course their husbands knew for each had come out here at some stage and spent a day or more watching us milked and exercised and each had also enjoyed taking us for a spin around the island as we shivered in the biting cold that seemed to pervade that island for a good part of the year; or sweated freely during the short summer ...

  He could have kept us ignorant, of course. But part of his joy in building and running the farm was in the shame and humiliation he created in us and I have to sa
y it never left me. Every time I thought of where my breast milk was going horrified me so I tried not to think of it, concentrating only on Mikate’s handsome face and his so sweet lips.

  I have to say however, that from a purely mechanical point of view, I was very impressed with Mabuchi’s enterprise. Everything sparkled with a cleanliness the Japanese are renowned for but it was all highly efficient and technologically up-to-date as well. As a budding architect I could appreciate the clean lines of the buildings but I also realised the machinery worked very well, too.

  He was obviously proud of his farm: of the clean buildings and machinery but also of us - his nearly four hundred slaves. On reflection and being utterly objective about it, I know I would have been too, if I had dared to even dream about what he had actually put into action.

  Imagine! The early part of the 21st Century and we have a man who has kidnapped and enslaved four hundred young men and women and turned them into farm animals, milking the girls for their breast milk and the boys, their semen! It’s beyond comprehension really that any man would dare to do such a thing - but he had. And, at least so far, he had got away with it. He clearly delighted in owning us and using us as commercial farm animals and as I say, when I stepped out of myself and looked at the other girl and boy slaves from his point of view, I had to smile and I felt my own juices working.

  This is not to say I would have done what he had. I don’t think I could possibly enslave other human beings but if I was in a position to own Mabuchi’s slavegirls and boys, say on some other-world situation, I would have loved it ...

  He even let us sample the end product of our own breasts and while the idea of drinking my own milk was weird I had to admit the taste was delightful. Different from cow’s milk and very pleasant.

  He also let us four girls smear the ointment on our faces and I was surprised at the tingling feeling it set up on my skin. I think I knew then that it was probably very effective.

  We didn’t get to drink our milk or use his cosmetic product again after that - he made sure our diet was made up of all the right ingredients in the proper proportions, even if it was all pureed into a bland, tasteless much, and the exercise we performed every day, coupled with the hard work of our chores ensured we were as healthy as anybody on this Earth could possibly be.

  After our inspection of the twin factories we were ‘cleaned’ again - another of the horrible and so shameful things Mabuchi inflicted on us - and then went for our evening meal.

  After that we had to visit the dreadful Dr Akira who first of all checked out our brand marks - and said each was healing nicely - but then had to stand against the back wall while he individually went over each of us more intimately, mauling our breasts while fingering our naked slits with his other hand and leering up at us from the stool on which he sat at the same time. Each of us girls: me, Dana, Helga and Piam were similarly fingered so horribly and then it was Mikate and Supaya’s turn to have their muscles caressed with one hand while the other played with their cocks and balls. Both boys’ faces burned with shame that a man was fingering them in such an indecent manner, especially while their female companions were watching, only feet away.

  We were to discover that Akira spent his days at this, to him a very pleasant a duty, feeling each of us as the whim took him, delving into our bodily openings, making us pose our muscles so he could feel and fondle them and then always end up working our libidos. He was careful not to bring the boys to the point of ejaculation for that would have been wasted sperm but it is apparently a fact that to tease a boy by exciting him to a stage just before discharge generates more and more sperm and so the guards as well spent a lot of time playing with the boys’ genitals as they exercised or did their chores.

  With us girls, they didn’t have to worry about our orgasms and they did this to us all day. Not that I minded. It was the only good thing we had going there and if I could sink my thoughts into the pleasure of dozens of climaxes every day, those brief pleasurable interludes were a break from the horror of the rest of our lives.

  And so Akira brought me and the other girls to a couple of orgasms each and then played with the boys’ cocks until they were hard and the boys were even thrusting them into his fingers, trying to reach a climax. It was hard on them for Akira was skilled in judging just the right moment the cease his disgusting masturbation of their genitals and always stopped just short of their ultimate pleasure, leaving them utterly frustrated.

  After that we were put to bed, again face down on the hard wooden beds and again I slept well, only waking to the strident clamour of the bell.

  Mikate

  I knew that I loved Phillipa from the very first moment I saw her.

  She was very beautiful of course with the gleaming golden hair that hung down her back, her brilliant blue eyes, her velvet-smooth, apricot-hued skin and her utterly fabulous body, but it was more than that. I also sensed she was a wonderful person as well. It had to be by sense for we were not allowed to talk - ever. Still, every time we were close I had these feelings, no doubt emanating from her aura, that she was as beautiful a person inside as she was on the outside.

  I am, or was, an engineering student at the University of Ghana in Accra and had intended being an electronics engineer. Alas, that aim was terminated when I was kidnapped after a gymnastics meeting (gymnastics was my chosen sport and I was doing quite well at it at the university) and I was now to become nothing more than a sperm and sex-slave to Mabuchi.

  Like Phillipa and the other three girls, and Supaya, the boy from Malaya, I spent days or weeks (or was it months) in one of the tiny rooms on Mabuchi’s ocean-going yacht, each of us isolated in the tiny locker-like cabins and was then brought ashore at the rocky island where he had his so-called farm ...

  Some farm! Two hundred, eighteen to twenty-year-old girls and the same number of boys, each being milked of her breast milk and his sperm twice a day and in between forced to perform diabolically hard exercises interspersed with domestic and outdoor chores as well as acting as human ponies for Mabuchi and his men and his guests.

  I liked sex. Like most boys in my village, I had experimented with them and on the girls in the village. We all tried masturbating - ourselves and each other and we experimented with bum-fucking as well. I didn’t like it and soon desisted although some other boys preferred it to making out with the girls. I quickly moved to heterosexual activities though and soon earned a reputation as a ladies’ man. When I moved to Accra to the university, I pulled my head in a bit. I had my share of girls but this was more serious stuff and in the year and a half before my kidnapping, I only had two real girlfriends and only one of those permitted me into her bed.

  Still, as I say, I enjoyed sex and although I had no real training in it, I think I was a fair hand as village boys went.

  Our milking though was not at all pleasant - except for Phillipa and for the final ejaculations. I hated the dildo up my backside. As I said, I wasn’t at all into homo-sex and the rubber dildo constantly moving in and out of my anus made me think of that.

  The penis cup was much too harsh, rubbing constantly up and down the skin of my cock and the suction it imposed on it wasn’t much cop either. The state of my member afterwards, all red and wrinkly, testified how badly it had been dealt with.

  The electric shocks to the base of my cock, while effective in producing my sperm - and in large quantities - were quite horrible. It felt as if my dong was encircled with a noose of thin piano wire that closed on it like a tourniquet and then twisted it violently while at the same time, something was bashing the rest of it with a rubber mallet!

  Of course I knew the twice daily suppositories (which I also hated) also helped to produce my sperm in vastly larger quantities so that my ejaculations - the only part of the morning and afternoon milkings that were in any way pleasant, other than kissing Phillipa, that is - really spurted out - and went on spurting fo
r what seemed like minutes.

  Much as I hated those twice-daily milkings, I never once thought of refusing to join the line of boys of my group as we entered the milking room, though. The collars we all wore, the prodders the guards all had strapped to their belts and their whips and canes were quite enough to keep me, and all the rest of us, on the straight and narrow. We all hated being milked - for the pain it gave us but also because of the sheer indignity of being used as human animals producing sperm and milk for Mabuchi.

  As I said, I knew I loved Phillipa from the first moment I saw her and when it came time for us to be milked, I saw how the land lay and moved up so that I would be opposite her in the milking position. That way I got to kiss her twice a day and I knew that first time that she loved me as much as I her.

  When it came to our sex lessons I also contrived to pair up with her.

  Have I mentioned the sex lessons? They were great. As I said, I was no virgin when delivered to the island and I thought I was pretty much the ants’ pants when it came to sex. I quickly discovered I was a crass tyro but soon I recognised it and settled down to take in everything I could on the subject, just as Phillipa, seated on the floor beside me did.

  Mabuchi’s sex teacher, Tomasa, knew just about everything there was to know on this subject: from how the libido worked - the erogenous zones and the nerves that served them; to the physical act itself - the thousands of variations of stimulation; the positions we could adopt ... He was quite a nice man as well, unlike most of Mabuchi’s men who seemed to delight in humiliating and shaming us, punishing us horribly for the slightest offence and feeling and fondling us, we males as well as the girls, all the time.

  These lessons were the only time I actually got to touch Phillipa except with my lips and I took in each of Tomasa’s lessons and then really tried hard to give her as much pleasure as I could, as she was with me, I knew. I also contrived to whisper little endearments to her - very short ones and very, very softly, for to be caught communicating with another slave meant horrible punishment.