The Milk Farmer

by Mark Andrews

  I have to admit too, that his body was really good. He worked nearly as hard as he made us to achieve a perfect physique; his skin was smooth and soft and a delightful light copper colour, and his muscles and overall shape, really very attractive. As well as that, for all his twisted mind and sadistic love of keeping young foreign slaves, he was a handsome devil and while I suppose it was perverse of me, I did enjoy him raping me.

  You wonder that I call it rape when I admit I enjoyed it? Well it was rape. My understanding of legal rape is sexual intercourse without consent and I certainly didn’t consent even if I did enjoy it, so what else could I call it?

  The days and weeks passed, all with the same monotonous regularity. We were roused, unlocked from the wooden beds, were cleaned, fed, exercised, milked, did our chores, more exercises, the evening milking and feed and then to bed again. The days didn’t alter unless we were scheduled to watch another punishment, or the whole slave body was marched in to watch an execution.

  As I said these were rare and during the nearly two years I had there, I only saw the two I have already described. Two were bad enough, though. To be frozen to death while your companions watched or to be impaled with a sharp wooden stake must be about the worst deaths I could imagine; only being burnt alive possibly outclassing them.

  I said earlier that caning, whipping and paddling were the usual punishments, the victim usually being suspended by his heels which were pulled wide apart to open and expose both the anus and vagina (or, with the boys’, their cocks and balls) to the whip. But Mabuchi had other punishments as well.

  One of these was to suspend the victim over a length of angle-iron. The angle-iron forms a right-angle with each side about three inches wide. The angle is therefore not all that sharp but when you are seated on it with your legs pulled out very wide - almost horizontal, and your thumbs are cuffed behind your back, the angle seems like a knife-edge.

  I know because Mabuchi had me hoisted up onto it for an hour - just so I would know what it felt like, he told me. He had the horrible frame brought into his bedroom and set beside his bed and the two guards lifted me up and over the thing, tying my big toes out to two convenient items of furniture before leaving me perched up on the thing. Mikate had to bend over the bottom of the bed and suffer being raped while Mabuchi looked over his back and across at me, now struggling to find a comfortable spot on the gleaming steel beneath my anus, perineum and vagina, all of which were suffering horribly from its attack.

  The iron was slotted into the two portable uprights, both of which had sturdy round bases that would prevent me rocking the apparatus so that it might fall over but I wouldn’t have tried that anyway for if I had, my toes might have been pulled right off as I fell.

  No, I had to sit there, my hands useless behind my back, my thighs and hips in pain from the nearly splits position of my legs while my anus and vagina really felt as if they were being cut in two.

  Fortunately, Mabuchi was so inflamed by my pose that he withdrew from Mikate’s bottom and let me down so he could rape me himself - and despite the pain in his own backside, my lover had to pleasure the hated Japanese as well.

  It was that night that Mikate told me (in our funny little code) that he now knew where the control room was. That meant we could now take our planning a stage further. As it happened, events overtook us but without that knowledge we still couldn’t have achieved our aim.

  I won’t say any more about it however for it was Mikate who got us free and he will tell the final chapter in our story ...

  Mikate

  We were very lucky. It seemed a chance opening of a refrigerator by one of a team of detectives doing a search of a gangster’s house, revealed a bottle of ‘liebfraumilch’, the name on the label of which had him intrigued and he took the milk back to the station to have it analysed. When it was revealed that it was human milk, it sent shock waves up and down the Japanese police service. It was not made public and the order went out to keep it a closely guarded secret. The analysis resulted in a further search of the gangster’s home and when this disclosed a jar of the ‘Boy-juice New-skin’, suspicions were again aroused. When it was discovered this stuff was mainly human sperm, more shock waves went through the government.

  This time it leaked out and then the whole kit and caboodle, the human milk and all came out. No one knew the source of course and the gangster certainly wasn’t talking while every one of Mabuchi’s other customers quickly disposed of the product and burned the containers.

  Mabuchi’s market dried up almost overnight and he now had four hundred utterly useless slaves on his hands.

  He had an ingenious mind, however, and began to dispose of the slaves. Not now to Japan for the authorities were now on high alert for anything resembling slavery. It was rightly assumed that the number of girls required to produce milk in marketable quantities (although the full extent of his market was never discovered) must be high and free girls would never submit to becoming milch cows. It was also assumed from the professional appearance of the jar and label on the cream that a similar number of males would be required to produce the cream in any commercial quantity.

  All this we discovered much later, of course, when we were taken to Japan to tell our stories.

  The helicopter began to make regular visits to the island picking up slaves by the twos and threes and presumably delivering them to ships in the Sea of Japan which would take them to the various destinations to which they had been sold.

  This was the one thing that saddened me terribly for Mabuchi kept no records of his sales and when he died - at his own hands - the knowledge died with him.

  Of course we saw the now rapid depletion of our numbers but we had no idea what was going on. Our routines continued as before, except that now the anal suppositories were discontinued and the girls’ milk dried up while our sperm production went back to more normal quantities. They kept up the rest of our routines though, presumably for want of anything else to do with us, but I noticed they were no longer scrupulous about our product or that of the girls.

  When, after about ten days, our numbers had dropped to about twenty-five girls and boys and the guards had similarly reduced, I decided to act.

  I realised something had happened but didn’t know what. All our trainers had gone. The doctor, Toyonari and Tomasa were gone, as were the technicians who had run the two factories. There was only Mabuchi and a few guards left now but we were still cleaned, fed, milked and worked as before and were still required to grace Mabuchi’s bed at times.

  I knew it was now or never. The helicopter was still coming in each day and soon we too would be shipped off, to where, God knows, but probably to separate destinations and then I would never see Phillipa again. That would be unthinkable. I loved her as I never knew I could love anyone, even though we had only said a few words to each other in the nearly two years I had known her. I hadn’t really ever had a real conversation with her, our words being limited to the little endearments that covered the coded messages we passed to one to the other.

  Mabuchi had grown foolish as his slave numbers had dropped. Now there were only forty-five of us left and, with us at least, he decided to forget the chains connecting our thumbs to the bed-head.

  I strangled him as he was raping Phillipa and although he put up a good fight, I was stronger than he was and when I got my legs around his waist and squeezed with all my might, he soon succumbed and was rendered unconscious. He wasn’t dead however and we tied him up (very securely, we thought) and also gagged him to prevent him calling out for help if he recovered before we could get back to him.

  We now had to get to the control room undetected and deactivate the computer that controlled the neck collars. We found the key that opened them in the drawer beside his bed and removed them from our own necks but if the remaining guards suspected there were slaves on the loose, any one of them could punch in a c
ode that would send a message to the main computer, a much more powerful unit that the transmitters on the controllers themselves, resulting in it sending out a universal red shock command that would disable every slave anywhere in the building.

  We made our way carefully, avoiding the guardroom and their quarters but also the corridors covered by the movement sensors in the ceiling, and entered the control room silently. There was only one guard in there, monitoring the dozens of small screens as well as the main one in the middle and keeping his eyes on the array of sensor annunciators that kept track of all areas that could possible be frequented by slaves. It was as well we had been aware of the sensors and avoided them for if not, we might already have been caught.

  A rabbit-chop to the side of his neck rendered him unconscious and while Phillipa tied him up and gagged him, I then examined the main board, switching off the whole of the surveillance and alarm systems and then we hastened down to the one dormitory still functioning to immobilise the guard on duty there and release the other forty-three remaining slaves.

  It took a few minutes to calm them and explain what was afoot and I instructed most of them to stay put while Phillipa explained everything in more detail and kept them quiet while I chose ten to accompany me to immobilise the remaining five guards.

  This we accomplished with little drama for they were either asleep or nearly so and soon they too were well secured by locking them into the stocks on our beds.

  We now went back for Mabuchi but found that despite our strict bonds, he had escaped. I realised I should have searched his room for a pair of the thumb cuffs and locked him to his bed head but we had been in a hurry and our haste, it seemed, had allowed him to get free.

  We moved out of his suite and, in two groups, now went searching the establishment of him. We found him outside, face down in the snow, his revolver in his mouth, blood still oozing from the gaping hole in the back of his head. We left him there, just as he was and went back inside. I went straight to the control room and called up the authorities in Japan. As soon as I said the word ‘slave’, it sent alarm bells ringing and my message went straight up to the commissioner and from him to the Prime Minister.

  That very day, a swarm of high officials arrived by helicopter and the forty-five of us were interviewed and given clothing to wear.

  The senior man present, a high official from the Ministry of the Interior, took me aside and indicated that he would be pleased if we would consent to remaining on the island for just a few more days so they could sort out our return to our own countries.

  “That will be up to the rest of the girls and boys, sir,” I said. “As far as I personally am concerned, it’s okay but they have been through a terrible time and we would all appreciate our return home being expedited.”

  “Of course, and it will be too, but there is another matter which may mollify your companions somewhat ...”

  “Oh?” I said, looking at him inquiringly.

  He grinned and it seemed incongruous in the normally poker-faced Japanese but then he gestured for me to accompany him to Mabuchi’s sitting room where one of his clerks was counting a pile of little plastic bags. “Diamonds,” he said. “Something like eighty million American dollars worth, apparently the proceeds of the sale of your former companions ...”

  “No, said Phillipa, who had now joined us. “Or at least not all of it. I saw a pile of them in that safe months ago, long before the slaves began to disappear ... You don’t know where they have gone?” she ended softly, her eyes now rather teary.

  “Unfortunately, no. There appears to be no records of any of you and the guards profess to know nothing. We are searching for Doctor Akira, Tomasa and Toyonari but I suspect they have long gone to ground and could be anywhere in the world, no doubt bought off by Mabuchi. We do not think many of the slaves are in Japan although we have located a few of your earlier former companions. Their ‘owners’ have been persuaded to pay them the equivalent of two million American dollars in lieu of prosecution for unlawful deprivation of liberty so they have been well catered for.

  “The government has decided, though, that this little cache is to be divided up between the forty-five of you remaining slaves. That’s nearly one point eight million each and it is hoped you will feel somewhat compensated for your treatment at the hands of one of our nationals.”

  After that Phillipa and I took him and a couple of his top men for a tour of the establishment. He was impressed with the cleanliness and obvious efficiency of the place - until we went into the milking room and here he stopped dead, staring at the twin rows of male and female milking places, each with its double or single breast or penis cups and the machinery behind each place with the dildos, obviously ready to penetrate the nether orifices of the slaves as they were milked.

  He uttered an expletive and mopped his brow as he stared at the gleaming machinery, now silent and still but then moved up and ran his hands over the nearest unit, a female milking place and he got down on his knees and examined the clear plastic cups, horror mixed with interest etched on his face.

  “And you had to get down over this every day?” he asked.

  “Twice a day,” Phillipa said grimly. “And they really hurt. So do those ones over there,” she said, pointing at the male units.

  She looked at me and raised her eyebrows. I grinned back at her. “Yes, let’s ... Perhaps you might like to see exactly how they work, sir?” I said.

  “You wouldn’t mind? I mean, it will be terrible for you?”

  “We have been forced onto these machines twice a day for nearly two years now. One more time won’t hurt us ...”

  I went and switched on both machines and then, while the officials watched, goggle-eyed, we both stripped off our new clothes until we were again stark naked and while Phillipa got down on her knees and leant forward towards me, lowering her breasts to the slurping cups, I did the same on my side. We asked one of the men to guide the dildos into her vagina and my anus and then leant forward, kissing each other as we had hundreds of times before, while the men stood around us, watching in fascination as the two machines milked Phillipa of the last of her milk (much less now with the absence of the suppositories) and my cock was inflamed for the last time by the cup jerking up and down on it.

  I glanced up at the men around us from time to time and smiled inwardly as I noted the mounting lust on their faces. Oh yes, I knew it was an erotic sight and no doubt our bodies, honed by Mabuchi and Toyonari’s methods, must have contributed to that lust.

  But they were correct and never once reached down to touch either of us, even averting their eyes when we pulled up off the machines after the cycle was completed and dressed again.

  “It is utterly macabre,” their leader said hoarsely, finding it difficult to look us in the eyes.

  I reached out and raised his face to mine. “It is, yes,” I said gently. “But it isn’t your fault nor is it that of your government or people. Mabuchi must have been mad, that is the only explanation that fits... Now, I think it’s time we were all allowed to go home ...”

  ***

  I didn’t return to Ghana. The British consul arranged for a temporary visa for me to enter the United Kingdom and there I married Phillipa.

  We bought a small house and I entered London University to complete my engineering degree. As it happened, I didn’t bother to finish it for I had also set up a small workshop at the back of the house and there began inventing electronic gadgetry for the home. My devices were functional, cheap and appealing and to cut a long story short, I soon had my own production company that is now doing very well, thank you.

  Phillipa and I invested most of our nearly four million though since I started small with the company and grew on its profits and the income from the investment went into the salaries of a small team of the best private detectives we could find to try and trace some of the girls
and boys who had been our companions on that island.

  It’s an impossible task, of course. We know that. But we have made some progress. The helicopter pilot who delivered them to the ships was eventually found and he remembered some of the ships. That proved a starting point and we have actually been able to find and free some of them. It will be a long process, however, we know that.

  The Japanese police are co-operating and when we actually find one of our fellow former slaves and make a positive identification, they are very willing to make a song and dance to get the girl or boy freed.

  ***

  It is now two years on. Phillipa and I now have two wonderful children, a boy and a girl. He is dark like me but Jenny is remarkably fair, with Phillipa’s beautiful blue eyes and fine skin.

  We have moved into a slightly bigger house but most of our investment income still goes towards finding the rest of the former slaves. We have now located eighty of them but there are still well over two hundred to go. We live in hope, though ...

  Has our experience twisted us? Far from it! Through Mabuchi, I found Phillipa, we now have a nice house and a wonderful family and we still love one another very, very much. Without Mabuchi, we would never have met the other and I would probably have ended up working as an hack electronics engineer in some small factory in Accra while Phillipa might have been in similar circumstances in an architect’s office somewhere in London.

  We have kept up our exercise program and indeed, built a gym onto the back of our house and we make sure we keep our bodies as fit and as beautiful as Toyonari did - well perhaps not quite that far for his methods were brutal.

  You might be surprised to hear though that in our gym there is an abdominal table and while one of us is working our belly muscles on it - naked of course - the other stands beside him or her and fondles the other’s flesh. It’s a wonderful turn on and it always ends up with us making love - right there on the mats on the gym floor or even on the table itself...