The Milk Farmer

by Mark Andrews

  I didn’t even feel the terrible embarrassment that my cock had erected after the guard had tightened the collar a little too much around its root (and then toyed with it to ensure that it did erect) - and stayed that way for the rest of the time I had to pull the hated Akira around the island.

  I am not ashamed of my body. It’s a very good body and one I worked hard at during the training for my gymnastics. I’m also not ashamed of my penis. It is long and thick and in the showers after gym training the other boys would often pull at it and call me ‘horse-cock’ or ‘stallion’ as we played around. But on that island, the constant prurient interest of the Japanese men who came to watch us being milked and at training, not to mention the guards and Mabuchi’s other men constantly feeling and fondling our bodies as well as those of the girls, made me feel ashamed of it.

  I didn’t like this feeling. I shouldn’t feel ashamed of my body (or my genitals for that matter), but when the Japanese constantly treated us like farm animals, caressing us, feeling our muscles and fondling our cocks, it only got worse and worse, humiliation piling on shame and shame on humiliation to make us really feel like the lowest of the low!

  This was why, as I trotted Dr Akira around the island, I concentrated on my escape plans, going over the geography of the building, trying to determine where the control room might be.

  The wiring in the building was all exposed, lying in racks attached to the ceilings of the various corridors. I knew if I could work out which wires served which function, as we moved from place to place, I should be able to put together a wiring map. So far, I had only worked out the main electrical cables for they came from the generator room next to the capstan room. Being heavy-duty cables, they were easy to identify but there were many others as well: the communications system, for one - the means by which Mabuchi and his men kept in contact with each other both visually and audibly. What interested me of course, were the cables that facilitated the controllers’ access to the computer and those that connected the surveillance cameras to the control room, presumably in the same place.

  I knew this would be highly secure and probably disguised as a storeroom of some kind but I also knew that any concentration of wires into one room would probably be my main clue to its location. So far, it had eluded me but as I trotted along that cliff-top path, as fast as my freezing body, tiring muscles and aching lungs would carry me, I went over in my mind the images of the ceilings of the various corridors I had so far been allowed to traverse. No answer yet and I also had to assume that Mabuchi might even have made allowances for someone like me and disguised the wiring racks with masses of false cables that led in the wrong direction ... But at least my mental gymnastics kept the worst of the searing cold and the debilitation of my tired muscles from my mind.

  We were approaching the junction yet again and as I always did, I slowed down, hoping against hope this would be it. It was! Hurray! I don’t know how many laps we did that morning or how long we were out there. It was certainly hours but how many I don’t know for they never let us see a clock and with the clouds and light rain misting down, I certainly couldn’t tell from the sun.

  I was just glad we were at last heading up towards the grim pile of concrete and blessed warmth - at least relative warmth anyway.

  In the tackle room, Akira jumped down and strode off - without a word to me or even to the guard on duty there. And I stood there, warm once more as the guard unharnessed me, first unbuckling the hated bridle and then unlocking the clasp around the root of my genitals and easing the dildo out of my anus.

  Mercy of mercies, I was allowed to rest for the rest of that morning but as I lay on the hard bed in my dorm, my mind flitted between maps of the wiring racks in the ceilings -and my beloved Phillipa.

  Mabuchi

  I woke this morning with a wonderful feeling of wellbeing. Everything was going very well indeed. Beside me in the bed were my two favourite slaves, the English girl, Number 367 and the black boy from Ghana, Number 371. Of all the nearly four hundred slaves I now owned, this pair were by far the best.

  The best not only as bed partners (and they were really superb in that role) but also as milk and sperm slaves and as ponies outside on the path around the island, now made much safer for us by the construction of a low but very solid fence around the outside.

  I lay there for a few minutes, very aware of them on either side of me, chained by their wrists to the bed head of course (I wasn’t a fool, even when it came to these two paragons of beauty and lithe athleticism). I stroked their perfect flesh idly, allowing my fingers to graze up and down her breasts and belly, delving at times into her cunt and smiling as she reacted as she always did - with little squeals of pleasure; and his beautiful biceps and shoulder muscles, as smooth as cream on warm marble ... Both their bodies were as soft as silk on the outside but the muscles below were honed to a fluid perfection that made touching, caressing them, a most thrilling sensation.

  I also allowed my mind to wander over my factory, well pleased with the improvements to the way the two hormone suppositories had increased both milk and sperm production in the female and males slaves quite significantly. It had made the udders on the girls a little bigger while the male version had markedly increased the size of their balls. Some of them now looked quite grotesque, with huge testicles hanging below their also enlarged penile members. I wasn’t sure why their penises had increased but assumed it must have had something to do with the growth of their testes.

  On the girls, in almost all cases, the enlarged udders made them look more sexy, which was a plus for us since sex on this island was our one and only real pleasure - and one we all partook of most nights. It also meant of course that while they were at exercise or trotting the gigs around the path, they juddered up and down with an even greater violence and I think this helped the milk production a little as well.

  I delighted in seeing a girl’s overly full breasts (leaking a little milk at the nipples) straining and swollen with milk for it makes them a little more amenable to the pain of their milking ... Oh how wonderful it is to go down and watch as the cups latch on to their breasts like leeches and then begin to maul them viciously, pressing hard on their soft roundness as the suction cups draw out the nectar that my clients so adore.

  The vaginal dildos are an added bonus to the watcher, of course. I love to see the row of fifty girls all squirming beautifully as the dildos, all in perfect symmetry, push in and out of their bodies, vibrating wonderfully, arousing them to constant orgasms which of course aids in the release of their milk. I rarely miss a milking session, finding the sight of fifty perfect human milch-cows and the same number of male sperm-slaves, all giving up their produce to me, to be a perfect aphrodisiac and it is rare if I do not choose one or more of them to accompany me here to my rooms for a quick fling afterwards.

  Of course I do not just inspect the milking room. The gymnasium is another wonderful place to visit. Here, I can wander around the various items of equipment, watching as a stark naked, highly athletic girl-slave swings her body around the horizontal bar or leaps over the vaulting box, her well-muscled thighs spread wide open, exposing both her vagina and anus while her breasts flounce up and down wonderfully and the muscles all over her lithe body ripple and cord.

  I think, though, that in there, my favourite item is not a regular piece of gymnastics equipment (although I really love to see both the girls and boys performing naked on every single one of those) but an item I had made from a story I read in one of my favourite porn books (on modern slavery of course). It is a quite simple item: a plain but very solid table whose legs are bolted to the floor. It is two feet wide and three feet long. At the bottom corners are two leather stirrups through which the user slips his or her feet. The shortness of the length means that his buttocks overhang the top end - intentionally. He is now sitting upright on the table and is required to clasp his hands up behind his head and th
en lean forward, right down over his thighs so that he is bent double.

  This is an excellent stretching exercise for the hamstrings and back and he is required to stay there for the count of five and then slowly, very, very slowly, raise himself up and back - right back through the erect, supine, and finally the bent right back and down position so that his torso is now stretched down towards the floor. You can see why it is necessary to bolt the table to the floor - it would overbalance if it wasn’t.

  This position stretches the belly muscles beautifully but also manipulates the spine and works the back muscles at the same time. This position too, he must hold for the regulation five seconds and then raise his body - again with an ultra-slow precision while at the same time, now twisting his torso from side to side - as far as he can twist it to the left and then to the right until he reaches an upright position, at which he pauses for five more seconds - and then begins the cycle all over again.

  I delight in standing beside a male slave as he strains at this admittedly diabolical exercise, feeling down his silken skin and rippling muscles as he works his body to the point of exhaustion; but it is the girls I prefer, sliding my hands down over their so perfect udders, down further over the now prominent belly muscles (at least as they are lowering and then raising their torsos down and up), down further to fondle their open and exposed vaginas, of course delving inside to try and upset their rhythm as they strain to maintain the smooth flow of the exercise. I love to run my hands down over their cording thighs, feeling the soft insides exposed by the open position of their legs at the foot of the table and delight in the cording muscles as they help to control her body as she lowers it back and down.

  As she reaches the supine position and even more, from then on as she stretches further down, curving her belly in a ninety degree arc with her head now down near the floor, the mound of her vagina becomes even more prominent and I really delight in caressing it, seeking out her inner lips, finding her clitoral bud and exciting it as she strains to maintain the rhythm of her exercise for if she misses a beat even while in the throes of a tumultuous orgasm, her trainer might notice and give her a punishment shock. For that matter so might I, for watching as a girl shudders under one of these shocks is another of my little pleasures and while I never torture a girl (or a boy for that matter) if they don’t deserve it, I am quick to do so if they do.

  In all the time since starting my human milk farm, I had always spent some time in the gym, never ceasing to be awed by the perfection of the bodies of my young milk and sperm slaves. We Japanese have always nurtured our bodies, regarding them as a temple and now I had the opportunity to develop the human form to perfection without regard to its owner’s feelings or wishes. I had developed, in tandem with Toyonari, an exercise and diet regime that allowed this in each and every one of the slaves and to come and watch them, totally naked, their body hair removed permanently, their muscles fine and fluid, rippling as they strained to perform their exercises with more and more precision, was a wonderful sight indeed and one I have never tired of.

  All these thoughts flitted through my mind as I lay in my king-size bed and the two slaves beside me slowly came to life. I glanced at the clock beside my bed. Yes, I had time for a quick fling before rising to perform the first of my own exercise routines of the day for I was as concerned for my own body as I was for those of my slaves and I had long ago resolved that throughout my life I would maintain it in the finest condition I was able to.

  I squeezed Phillipa’s (yes I knew her name although I never ever used it to her, just as I knew the boy on the other side of me was named Mikate) breasts and rolled over towards her, kissing her hard and delving with my tongue into her mouth. Behind me, I felt the boy turning with me and smiled (to myself). Yes, he was well trained. He knew very well that I required him to fuck me while I was doing the same to his girl.

  There were a few of the slaves who had struck up boy-girl friendships and might even be called lovers and I delighted in making them serve me together, particularly forcing the boy to fuck me for most of them were heterosexual in inclination (or thought they were) and making them perform in this manner tickled the perverse in me.

  If they did it very well, I sometimes allowed them to make love properly during the evening or in the morning after and I thought I would do this now - after they had both pleasured me again. I didn’t do this so regularly that they might come to expect it, but often enough that it was there as a carrot, always enticing them to perform better and better in my bed.

  These two though were far and away the best. I think they were both highly intelligent people and had quickly decided that to bend with the wind and accept their lot was the best way to cope with the new status as slaves. Whatever the reason, they both delighted me with their bodies: she had taken to heart the lessons she had learned from Tomasa and could tickle my cock wonderfully with her inner muscles while using the flesh of her body to inflame me further. At the times I unlocked her hands she used them and particularly her fingertips to rouse me to heights of ecstasy even I hadn’t realised were possible - and I am very experienced in the physical side of lovemaking.

  Mikate was just as skilful. He too had learned well from Tomasa and could corkscrew his cock inside my backside in ways that delighted the nerves there and added immeasurably to the pleasure I was deriving from his girlfriend. Oh yes, as I lay there, on my side, my big prick ramming into her vagina while Mikate added to the motion by timing his thrust into me so they occurred at the end of my own thrusts, thereby making my lunges into Phillipa even harder and longer, my chest mashed up hard against her beautiful breasts while my back was being grazed by the slab-like muscles of Mikate’s broad and powerful chest.

  I know they hated me - all the slaves did but that was all right. It was to be expected and I was careful to make sure they continued to do so. Yet this pair, at least during the times I required them to pleasure my body, carefully maintained a pose of neutrality. They didn’t pretend to love me - that would have been crass and I would have been annoyed that they thought they could so fool me; no, their faces and the actions of their bodies were quite neutral. Oh they smiled at times, particularly as their bodies betrayed the lust the tripartite action created in them but at other times their faces were bland.

  But not their bodies. They were anything but bland! They threw themselves into the sex action as if they really loved me ... it is no wonder I called for their bodies so often. I think the only reason I didn’t have them in my bed every night is that I also craved variety and some of the other slaves were also quite skilful in pleasing me sexually.

  When I was sated, I climbed out of the bed and gestured to them that they might make love.

  I stood there and watched, eyeing, now from afar, the lithe beauty of the pair of them, the one male, dark-skinned and an athletic perfection; the other fair and blue-eyed, with shimmering golden hair and a honey-gold skin and body as perfect as is possible in a female, both now joining together in an act of real love.

  It was very apparent, this love they had for each other and while I didn’t exactly encourage such liaisons, I certainly didn’t frown on them either for in the most part, they gave solace to the two partners in their misery and I had found that if the females were happy, they gave more milk while the same thing went for the males so far as their sperm production went.

  I stood there, at the foot of the bed, careless of my own nakedness as I watched the pair of them make love together (we Japanese are not nearly as self-conscious about nudity as Westerners are) and despite the fact I had just experienced a massive orgasm, my cock was again rigid, revealing my delight in the athletic contortions of the two lovers on my bed.

  Of course Mikate had to be careful not to ejaculate. Neither into me or into his girlfriend. If he did, his offering to the milking machine would be that much less and he would face punishment for his sin. He didn’t want to face being strun
g up by his heels and whipped so he would be careful not to overstep the bounds. I knew exactly how frustrating this was for him for I had tried it myself, raising myself to just about the brink and then pulling myself back, over and over again, and at the end, denying myself final release. It had been very hard, but it was possible - as was also proved by Mikate now ...

  He succeeded of course, as he always did and I felt an urge to give the pair of them a small concession. “I have decided,” I said, “that while you make love together on my bed, you may speak to each other - but only when I am present ...”

  They looked at me in surprise and then in pleasure. It was a big concession since no slave to that time had been allowed to speak one word to a fellow slave. I felt confident in this pair though. They were so correct in their behaviour and so anxious to please me, I was sure they would be careful to protect this little privilege.

  I listened carefully for any sign of a breach of this trust but all they did was tell one another how much each loved the other. As I stood there, still naked and still with a rampant tool standing up from my groin, I decided that I would follow this pair around their various activities over the course of this day. It was not much different from my normal day anyway since I always spent a lot of time checking on the various department of my enterprise. Today, my inspections would merely be centred on the doings of 367 and 371.

  I hastily donned some clothes when the duty guard knocked on my door to collect the two slaves, following them out of my suite but not before I checked my safe. I had decided, when I sold the company, that I would concentrate my assets into diamonds and even today, I still always convert my profits from this operation into more diamonds, all of which I store in the little wall-safe behind the portrait of my father in my private sitting room.

  I made it a daily practice to check on my millions every morning before I left my suite and I did this now, opening it as the entourage of the guard, followed by Mikate and Phillipa, passed through the room behind me. I didn’t normally allow my safe to be seen by others but in this case I was in a hurry to keep up with the little group and it was only Phillipa, after all, who saw what was inside the safe and I didn’t think it would matter that she might see the little bundles of plastic envelopes each containing two hundred and fifty thousand dollars worth of diamonds. I counted them quickly, exulting in the fifty million I had so far accumulated. That it was earning me nothing, I didn’t mind in the least. Capital gains was earning me more than I could on the stock market and all this was tax-free.