Author's Note: The bad news: Earth has been conquered by invading aliens.
The good news: They have a taste for human milk.
Prologue - Rise And Fall
The battle for Earth was lost before humanity even knew it was being waged. The Vacarian scout shop that stumbled upon our solar system had found an otherwise perfect planet teeming with pesky intelligent life - mildly dangerous, but nothing they hadn't dealt with before. It took only a few days for the Vacarian scientists onboard to develop and deploy the virus that would doom humanity. It was fast spreading and entirely symptomless, except for the fact that it rendered its victim sterile after a few months. The plague was stealthily seeded in the largest cities on each continent and then the scout ship continued on its way.
Twenty-five years later the Vacarian invasion fleet arrived to finish the job. But in their absence humanity had done most of the work for them. The nearly non-existent birthrate caused society to collapse. Entire civilizations turned on each other. Wars raged while scientists tried valiantly to reverse the disease to no avail.
When the Vacarian forces finally landed they began the wholesale slaughter of a severely weakened human race. Mankind was destined to be eliminated. That is until a quirky Vacarian general let his curiosity get the better of him and he dared himself to sample a bit of human milk from some dirt-ridden peasant who had grovelled before him. It was an instant hit.
The Vacarian empire couldn't get enough of the sweet, calorie dense substance. Of course the food replicators on their ships and colonies were easily able to mass produce the product once the chemical formula was deduced, but the elite of Vacarian society all clamored to have their very own human cow, whom they could present at dinner parties and brag to their friends about. It was the ultimate status symbol. Soon, hapless young women were being shipped out all across the galaxy to serve their greedy new masters. Humanity was saved from extinction.
For those Vacarians that couldn't afford a real, live human, the next best thing was to acquire a bottle of genuine human milk. The market developed quickly with various vintages and additives, each claiming to be the superior product. But no one could match the quality and reputation of Terran Farms, the first, best, and most profitable purveyor of human milk in the galaxy.
Chapter 1 - The Man Who Sold The World
Rick Stringer looked in the mirror for the tenth time. He adjusted his tie and ran his fingers through his greasy, black hair. "This is a big one," he told his reflection, "don't fuck it up."
Three years ago he had found himself in a Vacarian concentration camp, awaiting his turn to be exterminated. His career selling black market pharmaceuticals from town to town had come to a swift end as he was led away by a Vacarian storm trooper prodding him with the business end of a fusion rifle. A few months earlier he'd have been shot on sight, but recently the invaders had been rounding up all the humans they found and shipping them off to camps.
The camp Rick had found himself in was populated with starving and destitute rabble, simply waiting their turn to die. Shortly after arriving each entrant was sent to the camp director for an interview. Apparently the Vacarians had switched from a strategy of complete human extermination to something else. But what it was that they wanted was anyone's guess.
Rick, ever the opportunist, made careful observation of who attended these interviews and what became of them afterward. Some were sent to their immediate death, others were injected with unknown substances and left to wait with the rest, and a select few were moved to a different section of the camp with better rations and accommodations.
Rick began to establish a pattern from the various outcomes and surmised that the Vacarians were particularly interested in young women. He finally put two and two together when a young mother arrived at the camp. Though the Vacarian virus had decimated mankind's fertility, it was not one hundred percent effective and a lucky few humans had managed to reproduce. When the Vacarians observed the young woman lactating there was great excitement among the normally stoic aliens. One ambitious guard was bold enough to climb atop the frightened woman and suckle directly from her breast before an officer arrived to hustle the woman away to the nicer section of camp.
The next day Rick went in for his interview. He was given a physical and then ushered into an interrogation room. The Vacarian guard asked questions about his skills and former occupation. Nothing Rick said intrigued the guard and he began to feel that this was quickly becoming the last day of his life. The guard concluded the interview, but before Rick was told to leave the room he took his shot.
"I can get you more human milk," he said. "Lots of it. You can bottle it and sell it. I've seen how excited your people are about it. You'll be rich."
This got the guards attention. Up until this point the Vacarians had been focused on finding and exporting lactating females to the wealthy and powerful. The prospect of bottling and selling the milk hadn't occurred to anyone. Rick was quickly moved up the command chain for further interviews. Thinking on his feet, Rick developed his plan as he was ushered from meeting to meeting. He'd always been clever, and this time his wits saved him from a date with the chopping block. By the end of that day he'd convinced the Vacarian commander to assemble a milking facility with him in charge of the operation.
Now three years later, he was the head of the most successful and profitable farm on the planet, Terran Farms. Make no mistake, he was still very much a slave at the mercy of his conquerors, but being on their good side brought him plenty of perks. He had a large, comfortably furnished apartment, access to gourmet foods, and plenty of leeway in how the milk operation ran, provided that the exorbitant profits it generated continued.
Today, Rick was scheduled to meet with an important Vacarian investor, interested in seeing how the new line of specialty milks that Rick had thought up was coming along. Rick would be guiding him on a VIP tour of the operation.
He checked his best suit one last time before heading out the door. He wasn't even sure if the Vacarians could tell the difference between a high end suit and a pile of rags, the invaders wore no clothes and kept most of their slaves naked at all times. Nevertheless, he wanted to look his best for himself, if nothing else.
He arrived at the facility and stood at attention near the entrance, ready to greet his guest the moment that he arrived.
The VIP arrived exactly on time. Rick watched as his land cruiser floated up in front of the building and the alien stepped out. Despite spending the past three years working for them, Rick could not get used to seeing the Vacarians. They looked life furry little koala bears, but twice as large. One might have even thought they were cute if not for their ruthless nature and casual disregard for non-Vacarian life. It was easy to want to underestimate them until you looked into their piercing eyes and saw their keen intellect behind them. Though a man could easily overpower an unarmed Vacarian, he was no match for their staggeringly advanced technology which they readily demonstrated at the slightest whiff of resistance.
Rick stepped forward and smiled. "Greetings, master. Welcome to Terran Farms. I'm happy to have the opportunity to give you a tour of our operations here. Please don't hesitate to ask any questions you may have. Shall we get started?" He couldn't tell if the visitor was happy, bored, or angry. The Vacarians were famously difficult to read and usually kept a neutral expression.
The VIP nodded and Rick led the way.
Chapter 2 - Boulevard of Broken Dreams
They entered into a dim hallway lined on both sides with doors. The heavy steel doors had large bolts and locks securing them closed. Just past each door was a large window looking into the adjoining room. The tint of the window suggested that it was actually a two way mirror. The occupants of the rooms would not be able to see the observers in the hallway.
The first room they approached and looked into was empty, but from the crying and moaning coming down the hallway it was clear that not all the rooms were unoccupied. Inside the room was a cabinet, its closed doors hid the miscellaneous tools it contained. In the center of the room, resting on polished white tile was a gynecological table, the sides of which were lined with heavy leather straps. A matching steel door gleamed on the opposite side of the window that the visitors peered through.
"This is our indoctrination center," Rick explained to the VIP. "As you are aware, human fertility has been significantly impaired to help reduce the population. As such it is very rare for us to acquire a lactating female in the wild. Therefore, we must inject our candidates with the proper hormones to induce milk production. The process takes about a month, during which time we introduce our girls to what life will be like once they are productive members of our farm."
Almost on cue, the steel door on the far side of the room swung open. A beautiful young woman was shoved through. Her wrists and ankles had been shackled together and connected with a short chain that left the woman stooped over and forced to take small steps. A thick metal collar was enclosed around her slender pale neck. She was followed into the room by a burly female guard, wearing a simple gray jumpsuit and a metal collar matching her prisoner's.
The guard quickly got to work. She hefted the chained woman up onto the table. Then she began to remove the shackles one by one, making sure to secure each limb with multiple leather straps before moving on to the next one.
The prisoner, sensing that worse was to come, was no longer complacent. She struggled futilely against the burly guard who continued strapping the frightened girl to the table.
"What the fuck are you doing?" she raged. "Let me go you fucking traitor. I-" The rest of her rant was cut off as Rick reached over to a nearby panel and tapped a few buttons. A green light on the slave's collar switched to red and the slave stiffened as the collar doled out a fierce electric shock.
The slave gasped, temporarily stunned by the sudden pain.
"Every prisoner in this facility is fitted with an electric shock collar," Rick explained. "We find that they are very effective at teaching them what is and is not acceptable. After a few shocks they become very eager learners."
The slave was soon fully secured to the table. Thick leather straps across her neck and abdomen kept her firmly pinned down, while other straps and shackles immobilized her arms and legs. The slave, recovered now from her shock, struggled against her bonds while the guard went to the cabinet and began gathering supplies.
"The guards are recruited from the holding camps. We have no shortage of volunteers given that the alternative is death. However, it takes a certain type of person to attend to our cows. Many guards quickly find that they are not cut out for the job. And, of course, we've had a few instances where the guards made it through our screening process, only to later betray their duty and attempt rescue of our prisoners. Those individuals are dealt with very severely, and used as an example to keep the other guards in line."
Rick looked again into the room, thankful that as administrator of the farm he was spared from having to wear the wretched shock collar. Initially the guards, too, had been allowed to be free from them as a sign of good faith, but after the first traitor had turned against them they, too, were fitted with the collars and kept in line with the occasional shock.
The guard had finished gathering her supplies and she turned back now to the woman strapped to the table. She held in her hand a large and menacing syringe. The frightened woman stared at the gleaming metal and turned pale.
"No. Please don't," she repeated over and over. The guard ignored the woman's blubbering and walked around to the side of the table.
"This is the first step in the procedure. The woman is injected with hormones to induce milk production," Rick explained. "I'm told it's a rather painful injection."
As if to emphasize the point, his sentence was punctuated by a loud scream as the guard roughly grabbed a handful of titty and squeezed it tight. She then jabbed the needle into the struggling woman's titflesh and depressed the plunger. She pulled the syringe out only to jab it in again an inch away. She repeated the process several more times on the screaming woman's breast before the plunger was finally empty.
The woman strapped to the table shrieked like the damned. Oblivious to all else she yelled, "It burns. It burns. It-", before Rick cut her off with another jolt from her collar.
The guard watched the scene with indifference as she prepared another syringe for the other breast. By the time it was ready her unwilling victim had managed to calm herself down. But when she saw the second syringe she began sobbing and moaning anew. Though that was soon replaced with more screams as her other tit was assaulted over and over by vicious jabs of the needle and the accompanying burn of its contents.
"We need to repeat this procedure every few days for the next month in order to deliver the correct dosage," Rick explained. "The injections have the added benefit of expanding the cow's mammary glands, allowing them to hold and produce greater quantities of milk."
"The next part of the indoctrination was thought up by one of our guards," Rick said. As he spoke, the table that the woman was strapped to was adjusted. The backrest was tipped parallel to the floor and the stirrups holding the slave's tightly strapped legs were raised and spread. The viewers were treated to an excellent view of the woman's freshly shaved pussy between her splayed legs. The woman continued to struggle against her restraints but she was quickly losing strength.
The guard went once more to the cabinet and returned with what looked like a long dildo with several straps connected to it. The dildo was slender along its shaft, but was tipped with a bulbous head about the size of a peach. The guard began to apply a generous helping of lube all up and down the dildo while her patient looked on in rapt horror.
"You see, the hormones that we give our cows trick the body into thinking it is pregnant. This triggers milk production, of course, but it also affects the slave's uterus. It becomes more pliant and stretchable, in anticipation of a baby that will never come. Our clever guard thought that we might as well take advantage of this physiological change and put our own 'baby' in there. Of course, we didn't want to risk testing the concept out on a prime cow candidate, so we used the guard that came up with the idea! Needless to say, it was a smashing success."
The spectators watched as the guard unceremoniously rammed the dildo into the woman's lubed up pussy. The slave grunted as the long shaft drove deep into her snatch. The guard paused with the head of the dildo resting against the woman's cervix. Then with a twist and a shove she slammed the dildo home. The woman's grunts turned into groans as her insides stretched to accommodate the intruder.
"The head of the dildo will grow to the size of a small watermelon over the next four weeks. The 'birth' of the object will be her initiation onto the farm. The entire process is, of course, extremely painful, so we make it known that non-cooperative slaves will repeat it over and over until their attitude improves. Let me tell you, it makes quite the impression," Rick said with a smile.
"This slave will have one more procedure before she is done for the day," he said.
They watched as the slave was unstrapped from the table and stood up with her back against the wall opposite from the cabinet. Her arms were raised above her head and shackled to attachments fixed on the wall. Her legs were likewise attached to shackles near the floor. There was hardly any slack in the restraints, so the slave was held standing upright on her tiptoes. The guard went once more to the dreaded cabinet and withdrew a broad leather strap affixed to a sturdy wooden handle.
"We've found that the hormones take effect better if there is a good amount of blood flow to the slave's breasts," he explained. His statement was punctuated with a loud slap followed by a shriek as the guard delivered her first blow from the strap, square across the surprised woman's nipples. "During their indoctrination the slaves are given daily beatings to their breasts to help the process along."
They watched as the guard rained down blow after blow on the screaming woman's tits. She twisted and turned as best she could, but she was no match for the guards experienced strikes. No spot was spared and soon the slave's tits glowed a bright red while the guard, determined to do a thorough job, continued to pepper her aching tits with additional hits. She paused to wipe a growing sheen of sweat from her brow, only to continue the savage beating of the hysterical slave's tits a moment later.
"Let's move on now to a cow who is further along in our indoctrination process," Rick said between screams from the woman they were observing. He guided his guest farther down the hall as the new slave's misery joined the chorus of suffering emanating from the other rooms in the corridor.
Two doors down they came upon a darkened room. Rick stopped and punched a few buttons on the panel on the wall. "This slave has been with us for nine days," he said as the lights flickered to life in the room.
Inside was a petite Asian woman. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall. Her shoulder length black hair was matted against her tear stained face. A set of metal stocks locked neatly around her metal collar. Two bars jutting out from the sides held her enclosed wrists away from her body at neck height. She stood in the center of an otherwise empty room, save for the dreaded cabinet on one side. A length of chain ran from her neck to the ceiling. It was long enough that she could bend slightly or move in a small area within the middle of the room, but it was short enough that she could not kneel or sit on the floor.
Both observers eyes were immediately drawn to the woman's chest where a set of bruised and battered tits, which seemed just slightly too large for someone with such a petite frame, hung like trophies in a sadist's collection of greatest hits. Beneath her swollen mounds one could see her pregnant stomach just starting to show as the dildo inserted into her pussy had slowly and relentlessly expanded within her pliable uterus over the past nine days.
The activation of the room lights had knocked the miserable woman out of her quiet, pained peace. She shifted nervously from foot to foot. Her legs trembled. Beneath the woman, to one side, was a puddle of piss. "We like to keep our slaves in stress positions. It helps to keep their minds focused on their misery and more compliant to their handlers," Rick explained. "This one has been on her feet for just over twenty hours. Ever since her last dose of hormones."
As her wide fearful eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness they remained fixed on the steel door leading into the room. The woman knew that the disturbance of her peaceful misery could only mean more pain. Her handler did not disappoint. He marched through the door a moment later, right on schedule. The sight of the tall, toned man struck fear into the anxious slave. He had come to visit her every day since the start of her captivity, and each meeting only resulted in further pain and degradation.
Despite the futility of it, the woman kept as far away from the man as her chain would allow. The man paid her no regard as he moved to the cabinet and withdrew a thin leather belt. The slave sobbed as she saw the all too familiar implement. She had repeatedly felt its sharp kiss on her tits every day since she had come to the facility and today would be no exception. Bruises layered atop bruises covered her breasts, with no time between beatings to heal.
The handler looked down at the floor as he approached the quivering woman. "Tsk, tsk, did you make a mess on the floor?" he asked in an admonishing tone. "You'll have to get extra punishment for that."
He wound up the strap and deliver his first blow. The crack of the leather across the slave's tits was followed by a piercing shriek. The slave slumped in her bonds, but this only caused her collar to dig into her neck. She struggled back to her feet, coughing.
"Oh, are you tired of standing up?" the handler teased. "I tell you what. If you dance for me, then I'll let you down. Let's see you shake those titties for me."
The slave stood up straighter. The prospect of getting off of her exhausted feet refocused her. She shimmied back and forth, wriggling her hips. The handler swiftly delivered another strike across her tits. The slave stiffened and screamed.
"You're going to have to do better than that," he yelled.
The slave became more animated. As she moved her hips, her battered tits swung seductively back and forth. The handler smiled as he wound up and unleashed another blow to the slave's swinging tits.
"There you go," he said. "Now you're getting it. Keep going!"
The slave continued to dance while the handler peppered her tits with strike after strike. One particularly hard slice across her nipples caused the slave lose her footing, but she recovered and resumed dancing at the encouragement of the handler.
The cruel dom was really getting into it and began dancing along with her. He began to show off with dips and turns, adding flourishes to his swing of the strap. Then, at one point, he turned his back to the slave for just an instant while standing within her reach. The clever slave, sensing a rare opportunity, quickly pivoted her whole body, swinging her arms, still locked in the stocks, around at the man. He turned just in time for her to connect the metal locked around her wrist with his mouth. There was a loud 'clunk' as the man took the blow square in the face and crumpled to the floor.
Rick quickly jumped into action and pressed the button on the wall to activate the shock collar. The slave writhed in agony as she was rocked by blast after blast after blast. Rick held down the button until the handler was able to get back to his feet. The slave, knocked off her feet by the shocks, dangled by her neck from the chain connecting her to the ceiling. She gasped for breath as the handler picked her up by a handful of hair and slapped her across the face.
"You stupid, bitch! You're going to pay for that," he raged, then spit out a tooth. He stormed over to the wall and flipped a switch. The chain holding the slave to the ceiling cut free and she crumpled to the ground, her aching legs unable to hold her a second longer. She landed face down, mashing her swollen, aching tits into the cold tile floor. She grunted as the handler grabbed a fistful of hair and dragged the slave to her puddle of piss and shoved her face into it. She recoiled in disgust, but was too weak to pull away.
The handler continued to hold her face to the puddle while she writhed about. The pressure of laying on her tits and swollen abdomen was too much for her, and she struggled up onto her knees, raising her petite olive ass high into the air. With such a tempting target to exact his revenge upon the handler now took his leather strap and applied blow after blow after blow on her upturned buttocks. The slave shrieked as the punishment landed on a heretofore untouched part of her aching body.
The handler didn't stop until he had tanned her ass bright red. He tossed the strap across the room and wiped the sweat from his brow. "How are you going to make up with me, bitch?" he asked.
The slave, lost in her agony did not reply, instead sobbing uncontrollably on the floor. Though he no longer held her face to the puddle of piss, she was too lost in her pain to wriggle clear of it.
Rick, watching from the hallway, could see the lightbulb come on over the handler's head as he arrived at a suitable recompense. The man stood up and retrieved a large ring gag from the cabinet and fastened it in place on the miserable slave. Then he reached down and undid the fly on his jumpsuit. His cock, stiff from all the excitement, sprung free. He shoved his pudgy fingers into the slave's gagged mouth, reaching back far enough to cause her to choke then he slathered his dick with the saliva he had acquired. He returned to her mouth a few more times before he positioned himself behind the slave's upturned ass.
The crying slave, who had started to become indifferent to her abuse, perked up as she felt the man's stiff cock press against her asshole. She begged and pleaded from behind her gag for mercy, but her cries only egged him on. With an angry push he roughly entered her ass and began driving his cock in and out. All the while, the woman pinned beneath him squealed like a stuck pig as her ass was reamed by his engorged penis. When he finally reached full penetration his body slammed hard against her bruised ass. He mauled at her welted asscheeks as he drove her swollen and battered tits into the hard tile.
"Let's leave these lovers to their little tryst," Rick said to his companion, guiding them further down the hallway. "This handler is well known on the farm for his endurance. He may be at it for a while. Though I have noted his sloppy security practices in his file. He will be punished for it later. Another instance will result in his immediate termination."
They resumed their journey down the hallway of the damned, casually looking into the various rooms at their miserable occupants, each sporting a set of overly large puffy and bruised tits, and tummies in various stages of pregnancy. They stopped at the last room at the end of the hall and peered in the window.
"Tomorrow is this slave's final day of indoctrination," Rick announced proudly as they took in the scene before them.
A beautiful caramel skinned Latina sat before them. Her round belly as large as a full-term mother's. The skin was pulled tight around her waist, having done nine months worth of stretching in one month's time. Her tits, the size of watermelons, were a patchwork of welts, bruises, and blisters. A thin cord had been tied around the base of each breast causing them to turn a light purple shade. It was connected to the ceiling directly above the woman. Beneath her was a large inflatable 'balance ball', which was a little less than three feet in diameter. The woman was perched precariously atop the ball, struggling to maintain her balance. If she leaned too far one way or another then her fall would be arrested by the sharp tug of the cord around her tits while she fought to regain her position.
The woman might have placed her feet upon the floor to aid her efforts at balancing, except that the entire floor surrounding the ball was covered in tiny sharp spikes the size of thumbtacks. Instead she pressed her knees tightly to the sides of the ball and held her feet clear of the floor. The ball, thick enough to resist the stab of the spikes, rolled easily over the tortuous surface.
With her feet pulled up from the floor the woman was forced to rest her entire weight upon the evil dildo which had invaded her pussy for the past month as it grew agonizingly larger and larger. This drove the enormous monstrosity deeper up into her painfully overfull abdomen.
Her wrists had been cuffed together behind her back and connected to the back of her collar with a short chain. Her hands clasped and unclasped into fists as she maintained her struggle.
The woman's face was scrunched up in concentration as she fought to hold her balance. Her pain was expressed by a persistent agonized moan, briefly punctuated by sharp gasps as the cord tore into her bound tits. The bloody cuts visible along the soles of her feet showed that she had at at least one point chosen to trade the pressure on her pussy and tug on her tied tits for the pain of the spiked floor.
"She's been balancing like this for about five hours," Rick explained. "You may have noticed that we like to increase the intensity of our cows' agony as the indoctrination proceeds. This helps to ease them into the life that they will soon be living as productive members of our farm."
They watched the woman struggle for a few minutes more until the scene was interrupted by the arrival of a handler. The lithe, black woman wore the standard gray jumpsuit and metal collar of the other handlers but her outfit included a pair of thick soled leather boots which proved quite useful as the handler approached her charge and gave her a playful shove. The spiked floor had no effect on the handler and she laughed at the slave while she struggled to regain her perch.
"Good news, bitch," the handler reported. "Tomorrow you are finished with me and you get to join the rest of your friends in the milking room."
The slave looked at her handler with worry. She wasn't sure whether or not that would be an improvement over her experience of the past month, but she was certainly eager to be free of her current predicament.
"There's just one small thing we have to do," she said, her eyes dropping to the slave's bulging stomach. "We need to deliver your 'baby'. Will it be a boy, or a girl, or pure agony? I'm betting it will be the latter." She laughed as she patted the woman on her stomach. The slave's skin had been stretched tight as a drum by the device embedded within her and even the gentle pats caused pain.
The handler moved to the cabinet, swung open the doors, and produced a pair of shiny black four inch high stiletto heels.
"I bet you would look sexy in these," she mused. She squatted down next to the slave and crammed her injured foot into the first shoe. "Why, you must be Cinderella. It fits perfectly." She quickly inserted the woman's other foot into the remaining shoe. Now with something to protect her feet from the sharp spikes covering the floor, the slave lowered her feet to the ground and steadied herself atop the ball. As she found her balance she lifted most of her weight from her pussy and onto her feet. The stilettos were certainly not made for comfort, but the growing ache in her feet was nothing compared to the agony within her abdomen. She had been wracked for days with horrible cramps from the ever expanding object buried inside her. Sitting with her weight on the end of the device only made the torture worse.
The guard, seeing that her charge had lifted herself mostly free of the ball, drew a mischievous smile, pulled her heavy booted foot back, and then kicked the ball squarely in its center. The giant sphere suddenly disappeared from beneath the surprised slave. She was too slow to react to the loss of support and began to fall backwards. Unfortunately for her, the cord tied tightly around her tits was still there to arrest her fall. She shrieked in pain and shock as the cord yanked hard at her abused tits. She dangled for several seconds before she managed to regain her footing and stand upright for the first time since her torture session had begun.
The handler now moved to the cabinet and pulled out a leather harness with small metal patches scattered about its surface. It vaguely resembled a corset, though one which could fit around the distended belly of a full-term pregnant slave. At the back of the garment was a battery the size of a paperback novel with a small control panel affixed on top of it. The handler moved toward the slave, who had by now learned that resistance only resulted in more pain. The slave stood upright in growing anxiety as she contemplated what new horror awaited her. The handler fitted the corset snugly against the slave's distended belly, adjusting straps here and there until she got the fit that she desired. To the slave's relief, the corset was not cinched overly tight which she was sure would have caused her to rupture an organ or something.
For one last final step the handler connected a small wire drooping down the back of the corset to the monstrous dildo that occupied the pained slave. She then flipped a switch on the control panel. The slave jumped as she heard the click, expecting some sort of awful punishment, but nothing came. With the device secured behind her back the slave could not see a small display on the panel which now showed a stopped timer indicating thirty minutes.
The handler returned to the cabinet one final time and grabbed a short metal chain. She crouched down between the slave's legs and hooked one end of the chain to the floor. Then she stood up and undid the cord binding the slave's tits. The slave sighed in relief to finally be free of the dreaded cord. She looked down at her tits to see the normal color returning to them beneath the purples bruises and red welts that had been artfully painted across her flesh.
"Squat, slave," the handler ordered, her tone so commanding that the slave automatically obeyed. She spread her heeled feet shoulder width apart and squatted above the metal chain that had been affixed to the floor. Now that she was closer she could see that the other end of the chain possessed a nasty looking spring-loaded saw-toothed clamp.
The handler squatted down in front of her slave. She brought her hand forward and tenderly began caressing the woman's overstuffed pussy. She ran her fingers up and down the folds of her labia. It took only a moment for her skilled fingers to begin to elicit a response. The slave had known nothing but pain for the past month and now she drank up what little pleasure was offered to her like water in the desert. The slave closed her eyes and cooed as the cruel woman before her gently teased her aroused clit out of hiding.
Then, in a sudden reversal that she surely should have been expecting, her eyes flew open and she shrieked in pain as the handler deftly reached up and snapped the sharp jaws of the clamp at the end of the chain onto her vulnerable and exposed clit. The slave's first instinct was to jump up and flee the assault on her most sensitive area, but that was a terrible mistake. The short chain pulled taught before she could rise more than a few inches, tugging fiercely on the spring loaded clamp which held fast to her clit despite the hard tug.
The slave screamed anew at the additional agony she had inflicted upon herself. She swooned and felt faint. She was about to drop to her knees before she remembered that the floor all around her was covered in tiny pinprick spikes. She re-balanced herself into a squatting position and grunted through clenched teeth, then closed her eyes to shut out the agony of the clamp holding tightly to her clit.
Unfortunately with her eyes closed she didn't see the handler pick up a long single tail whip and walk around behind her. She screamed in surprise and pain as the first lash struck the side of her body, wrapping around until the tip of the whip cracked into her defenseless breast.
"What?" the handler taunted. "You didn't think I forgot your daily tit beating, did you?" She laid into her with another strike. "Come on. Beg me to whip your tits."
"Please," the slave gasped. "Whip my tits."
The handler obliged. The slave screamed as another new red stripe was laid across her flesh. "Say it with more meaning. Make me really believe that you want me to whip you," she instructed.
"Please, mistress. Whip my tits!" the slave said emphatically.
"Ok." Crack! Scream! "Again," the handler ordered
"Please whip my tits!"
Crack! Scream! "Again. Don't stop begging me."
"Please whip my tits!" the slave called out, though her voice was faltering.
The handler obeyed. This process repeated a dozen more times. Then, it wasn't clear whether or not it was intentional, but the handler delivered a strike perfectly centered on the slave's tits. The long leather tail snapped around and landed across both nipples. The slave emitted an animalistic howl and fell forward onto the spiked floor. Fortunately for her there was enough slack in her chain that she avoided tugging on her clamped clit. Nevertheless, she howled in agony as her flesh met dozens of sharp tiny spikes all along the front of her body. The newly equipped corset protected her from some of the damage, but her bruised and battered breasts bore the full brunt of the spiked floor's fury.
The handler threw down the whip and raced to assist her slave back to her feet before her writhing agony caused too much damage. She held her sobbing slave in a motherly embrace for a few moments while she collected herself. When the handler finally set her fully back on her high heels she could see several trails of blood dripping from the slave's tits where the spikes had gouged through.
"I hope you have learned to keep upright," the handler said, any hint of compassion gone from her voice. "I think we're ready now to begin labor."
She leaned down and flipped another switch on the control panel affixed to the back of the corset. There was a soft buzz and the slave's eyes bulged. She tipped her head back and screamed like never before. She began to rise to her feet before the tug of the chain on her clit stopped her. She panted and grunted like a wild animal as it felt like her insides were being crushed within a vice and stabbed with a thousand needles. After about a minute the agony subsided. The out of breath slave looked up at her handler in total misery.
"Congratulations," the handler said. "You just had your first contraction. It looked to be a pretty intense one, too." She looked behind the slave to see that the display was now counting down from thirty minutes. "The contractions will gradually get closer and closer together," she explained. "I'll come back when they're about three minutes apart, which should be some time tomorrow. Have a pleasant night."
The handler exited through the door that she had come in from while the slave begged and pleaded for release. Her cries fell on deaf ears.
"We should move along," Rick suggested. "It's too bad that we don't have a delivery scheduled for today. It's really a sight to behold. The corset device that she is attached to delivers electric shocks to strategically chosen muscle groups around her uterus. The effect is remarkably similar to a real contraction during childbirth. It's actually a necessary part of the process. We need the slave to assist us with pushing out the fully inflated device embedded within her. But don't worry, we stitch her up if anything tears and then she's almost good as new in a week or so."
He opened the door at the end of the hall. "Our next stop is where the money is made - the milking room. Come on."
Chapter 3 - The Room Where It Happens
Rick unbolted the door to the milking room and stepped through. He was immediately immersed in the sweet smell of freshly expressed milk. The room echoed with the chug-chug of dozens of breast pumps extracting their precious product.
Aside from the mess of humanity and machinery arrayed before them, the room was immaculate. Arranged in two lines, one on either side of the door, were about a dozen women. No two were dressed alike, though they did have a few things in common. Each was blindfolded and gagged in some way. And each was bent forward over a horizontal bar mounted above the floor, her ankles cuffed to the support bars. Though there was nothing that held the women in their position bent over the bar with their backs parallel to the floor, they held that pose anyway because if they dropped their upper body too low or lifted it too high it would draw the attention of the handler who patrolled up and down each row. Anyone out of position would be met with a touch of the cattleprod that the handler wielded.
Positioned as they were, the cows' tits dangled enticingly. Enclosing each teardrop shaped lump of flesh was a sort of half harness, half breast pump. The pump affixed itself to each nipple with powerful suction. One could see through the transparent glass the swollen and distended nipple pulled straight down by two inches or more. A variable cycling of the amount of suction pulled and tugged at the nipple, each cycle resulting in a squirt of milk from the tit which trickled down a hose to the collection bin beneath the slave. Extending up from the nipple and surrounding the plump cow tit were a series of metal studded straps. The straps squeezed and loosened in time with the pump, crushing the cow's tit within its unyielding grip. Every squeeze tightened the grip of the straps a little more each time, helping to wring every last drop from its victim.
Rick escorted the VIP up the aisle formed in the center of room by the two rows of cows. "Each cow is milked every four hours, day and night, seven days a week. A milking session lasts thirty minutes. They're usually done after about fifteen minutes, but we want to extract as much out of them as possible. Plus, completely draining them triggers their bodies to maximize milk production to meet the apparent demand," Rick said.
They paused in front of a curvy brunette, straining to hold her top heavy torso in a position that would not draw the attention of the handler's cattleprod. A padded leather blindfold covered her eyes and a big red ballgag had been strapped into her mouth. Around her waist was a black leather corset which had been cinched impossibly tight. The corset had built-in garter straps which held up a pair of thigh high black stockings. Her arms had been pulled behind her back and lashed together with leather straps at her wrists and elbows. Her feet had been buckled into a pair of shiny black six inch heels.
"Between milkings we allow the handlers to do with them as they please, provided they don't jeopardize the cow's milk production. They may dress them up and play with them however they like, though we do enforce a daily minimum amount of exercise and a strictly controlled diet to ensure their health and productivity." He reached behind the slave and gave her ass a quick slap. The cow jumped in surprise at the unexpected touch. Rick reached behind her and spread her firm, round ass cheeks exposing the base of a thick black plug.
"Before milking, every slave is fitted with a buttplug and urethra plug. We try to keep the milking room free of as many contaminants as possible," he explained. The slave moaned as he wriggled the thick plug, its avocado sized head pressed inside against her stretched ass.
They walked further down the aisle to another slave. This one was dressed head to toe in shiny black latex. It was pulled so tight that it fit her like a second skin. The only hint of her pale flesh beneath the suit were two circular cutouts on her chest, through which her tits had been fed. Her latex clad feet had been locked into a pair of boots which held her toes en pointe, forcing most of her weight onto them. Her arms were immobilized by an armbinder that had been drawn agonizingly tight, pulling her elbows together and thrusting her enormous chest out.
Over the face area of the hood was drawn a crude characiture of a bright eyed smiling expression, but beneath the painted smile was a woman in distress. The cause of her distress was immediately apparent to the observers. Swinging gently from the slave's metal shock collar was a chain with a heavy weight on the end. Holding the milking position for thirty minutes was hard enough. Holding while a heavy metal weight was attached to the neck was near impossible.
In the few minutes that the spectators had been in the room this slave had already received the touch of a cattleprod three times. They could hear her grunting and labored breathing from beneath her hood.
"This slave is being punished for a minor infraction. We do not let her discipline sessions interrupt the milking schedule, however, we cannot let her off easy just because she has work to do," Rick explained. They watched as the slave slowly lost her battle against holding the weight at the appropriate height. The loud clunk of the heavy metal on the floor immediately drew the attention of one of the handlers. He briskly strode over and touched his cattleprod to the only exposed flesh available to him, her tits. A muffled squeal emanated from the slave's packed mouth under the hood. The handler moved the prod to her other tit, threatening that area with a shock if the slave didn't quickly get back into position. With a groan, the slave hefted the heavy item free of the floor before the handler had to make good on his threat.
They moved down to the last slave in the line. This one was completely naked except for the milking apparatus and a thick leather hood which had been pulled over her head. By now the milking session was nearly over. The pumps continued their relentless sucking on the cows' drained breasts. At this point the straps affixed to each tit harness had worked themselves so tight that the flesh crushed within its grasp bulged out between the gaps in the material. The naked slave before them held her pose with well practiced discipline. She held her hands in clenched fists, handcuffed behind her back.
"This one here is my favorite cow," Rick said proudly. "She was the first slave indoctrinated into our program a few years back and she's still going strong. In fact, I have a little bit of personal history with her. Isn't that right, Mary?"
Mary stood stock still, unresponsive to Rick's question.
"I was visiting her camp back before either of us were captured. When a Vacarian patrol was spotted in the area everyone fled to the safety of a hidden underground shelter. I pounded on the door begging to be let in, but Mary here told me that I wasn't a member of her community and couldn't be allowed in. Without a place to hide I was, of course, captured... But once I had been given permission to establish this operation I was happy to inform my mighty Vacarian overseers of the location of her camp's hiding place, as well as many others that I had visited in my travels. And wouldn't you know it? They found sweet Mary hiding in that same old bunker. I brought her in right away to help found our program and we've been having a lot of fun ever since. Right, Mary?"
The slave still maintained her position.
"I actually have a little bit of news for you, darling," Rick leaned low and addressed Mary directly. "We recently managed to capture your sister and your niece. Neither were considered prime candidates to join our farm here, but I pulled a few strings and got them in the program. Of course, you probably won't get to see them, but for all you know they could be suffering right here beside you during your next milking session. Can you imagine that? A family reunion!"
This got the reaction Rick was looking for. The slave's steady composure broke. He heard a muffled "no" come from beneath the hood. Mary tried to stand up, but a handler quickly arrived to shock her back into place. She received several more zaps from the prod before the handler finally brought her under control again.
Rick laughed as he opened the door at the end of the aisle. "Come on," he said to the VIP. "I'll show you our newest operation. This one promises to make you and your partners filthy, stinking rich."
Chapter 4 - Sleep Now In The Fire
Rick escorted his VIP down a bright hallway to a wing of the facility that smelled of new construction.
"This is where we produce our new lines of 'specialty milks'", Rick explained. "About six months ago we made a surprising discovery. You see, we have a team of Vacarian taste testers performing quality control. For some time they had noted that some batches of milk tasted different and better than others. We had chalked it up to variability based on time of day or diet or some other random factor. It wasn't until we sat down and took a closer look at the data that patterns began to emerge. It turned out that troublesome slaves who frequently found themselves on the receiving end of punishments had one taste and the more attractive slaves who found themselves receiving regular fuckings from the guards had a different taste. From that discovery we were able to tease out what it was that gave these batches their unique flavors."
They stopped in front of a heavy steel door labeled 'Milk Additive Department Section A'.
"Behind this door lies the secret to our most popular line of specialty products - Moan Milk," Rick said proudly.
He unlocked the door and escorted his guest through. Inside they were greeted with a scene that looked more like a medieval torturer's dungeon than a milking operation.
"We learned that the common denominator among our troublemakers' milk was an elevated level of cortisol in their blood. Cortisol is a stress hormone released by humans in distress. Of course all our cows have mildly elevated levels of the hormone compared to the human baseline due to the nature of their work and day to day handling, but those who were receiving regular punishments had levels elevated beyond even that," he explained. "Apparently some of the hormone finds its way into the milk and this gives it a unique taste that Vacarians have found very pleasing. So we thought if a little is good, then more must be better. We gathered all the troublemakers together into one milking group and subjected them to continuous stressful situations to raise their cortisol levels as much as possible. The result was a smashing success. The product is flying off the shelves and we are able to command a significant premium on it."
"Allow me to show you around," Rick offered.
Their first stop, just inside the door, was long metal box about the size and shape of a coffin. Aside from the small display above the lid indicating the occupant's vital signs, it was impossible to tell that there was some poor suffering soul inside.
"This was our earliest foray into increasing cortisol levels. What's more stressful than being locked motionless within a box for days at a time?" he asked. "Well, being locked in a box and tormented while you're in there, too!"
He reached down, undid some latches, and flung open the lid of the box. Inside was something resembling the general shape of a woman, however, it was difficult to tell beneath the multiple layers of thick brown leather.
"The suit she is wearing has three layers. The first is a tight fitting latex bodysuit to help keep her all hot and sweaty. Next we have a form fitting rawhide ensemble. It is soaked in brine before we strap her into it. As the rawhide dries it shrinks, holding her tighter and tighter. We top that off with a heavy leather body bag to give her that extra feeling of oppressive claustrophobia."
"Beneath the hood her mouth is packed full with a special foam that expands when it gets wet. Her mouth was certainly uncomfortably full when we packed it. I'm sure that once the gag absorbed her saliva it became positively unbearable," he laughed. "To keep her nourished we have a feeding tube down that gets snaked down through her nose. And there's a catheter and enema device to help remove her waste. We could keep her in here for weeks if we wanted to!"
"We wanted to be sure to take advantage of the sensitivity of her tits, but at the same time we couldn't interfere with milking. Our solution was to make a special dual-purpose rig," he leaned forward to show that each of the cow's tits was squeezed into a tight leather sack. "The part attached to the nipple has the usual suction mode." He flipped a switch on the milking rig and the suction sprang to life with the now familiar chug-chug noise. "But once the milking is done it has a magnetic clamp that springs shut." He flipped the switch the other direction. The suction noise stopped and there was a sharp metallic click as the clamp snapped shut on the helpless slave's nipple. A muffled shriek from within the hood accompanied the clamp's new configuration.
"The bags fitted around her tits have two layers. During milking a warm liquid is pumped in between the two layers. The outer layer does not stretch so the inside of the bag crushes her tits tighter and tighter as it fills. Between milkings we have to relieve the pressure so that we don't interfere with milk production, but the inner layer of the bag is able to secrete a rather nasty gel which makes the skin on her tits feel like they are on fire!" Rick reached down and pressed a button on the rig. "Here, let me give her another dose of it."
At first nothing happened, but after a moment they were rewarded with a series of short muffled shrieks from their unhappy victim. Despite the cow's desire to thrash about, the stiff leather held her completely still, a testament to its unyielding grip.
"Oops, silly me. I hit the button to release the burning lube from the ten inch dildo that we've got inserted into her pussy. Here's the right button," he flipped another switch and was rewarded with an increase in intensity of the screaming. "Oh well, let's move on," Rick suggested. He swung the top of the coffin shut, though he needed to sit on the lid in order to compress it down tight enough to latch it closed. They walked past several square boxes which didn't seem like they could possibly be large enough to fit a person. Nevertheless, anguished moans could be heard coming from the tiny air holes placed on the side of each box for each hapless victim.
"Oh, here's a new one that we're trying out," Rick said as they approached a large table in the center of the room. "We figure that we don't need to go reinventing the wheel, so why not try some classics from human history. This one is known as 'the rack.'"
Literally stretched out on the table before them was a lithe, young blond woman. Her wrists and ankles were enclosed in thick leather cuffs which pulled so tightly on her limbs that her hands and feet had turned a light purple. A panel gag muted the persistent anguished moan that came from the tortured woman. Her glassy stare was affixed on the featureless ceiling above her. Beneath her, the weight that was not borne by her wrists and ankles rested upon a couple of narrow triangular ridges which dug into the vertebrae of her back. Her body had been drawn so tight by her position that her massive tits had deformed into misshapen oblong footballs. All up and down her body were narrow red lines, raised welts from the thin metal rod that she had been whipped with while stretched on the rack. In places where the skin was pulled especially tight the rod had sliced right through. Dried trails of blood seeped from those spots.
"I'm not sure that we'll keep this device," Rick admitted. "It does a fine enough job at torturing the slave, but we're concerned that the stretching of her chest could affect milk production."
The slave's moan when up an octave as Rick brushed one of the welts laid across her chest. "What do you say, slave? Do you want us to take you out?" he asked.
The slave weakly bobbed her head up and down, making oomph noises from behind her gag. Rick walked up to the head of the table and took a firm grip on the large wooden wheel affixed to the winding mechanism for the ropes. He leaned into the wheel and it slowly turned. The wooden table creaked and there was a click as a ratchet mechanism locked the wheel in place in its new position. The slave gave an inhuman shriek.
"Oh!" Rick said with a devilish smile. "I think I turned it the wrong way. That just made it tighter. Hmm, I'd better not mess with it again. I don't want to screw it up. Don't worry, I'm sure someone will be along soon to set you loose."
He gave her head a tender pat and turned his attention elsewhere. He guided his guest over to a tall metal locker tucked away against a wall.
"This one is my favorite," Rick explained.
He reached forward and unlatched the door. As soon as he swung it open its miserable occupant fell out towards him.
"Tut Tut," Rick admonished. "You're not done yet. I'm just showing our guest your little room."
He gave the slave a gentle shove, sending her back into the cabinet. As soon as she hit the far wall she screamed from beneath her latex hood. The reason why was obvious, every surface on the inside of the locker was lined with tiny metal spikes!
Aside from the hood, the slave's bondage afforded her no protection from the painful surfaces. She stood with her ankles together and her hands at her sides. A thin cord ran from her ankles and wrapped around and around and around her body all the way up to her neck. Her feet had been locked into a pair of ballet boots which held her up on her toes. She rocked gently back and forth from the narrow heels of the boots to her toes as she struggled to maintain her balance and avoid brushing against the spiked walls.
It was apparent that her efforts to remain upright were not entirely successful, as her body was marked on all sides by cuts and scrapes where she had fallen against the sides.
"It's simple but effective," Rick said. "And check this out." He closed the door on the locker and flipped a latch. This allowed him to open a smaller section of the door just in front of the slave's tits. "We can milk her without having to take her out." He gave her tits a playful pinch which she was unable to squirm away from and then closed the small door. "This means that we can leave her in there for extended periods of time. I think this cow is going on ten hours now."
"We do seem to run up against some physiological limits however," he added. "We can only torture a slave for so long before her cortisol levels peak and then begin to ebb. Their minds start to break as well. Therefore we have to give the cows in this special section a break after a while. They are returned to the general population for standard milking while they recover. To make up for the lost capacity we've resorted to taking random 'volunteers' from the other cohorts. At least, I assume they'd volunteer... we never really bothered to ask."
They walked past a few cages suspended from the ceiling, crammed full of more miserable slaves before stopping again at another woman laying atop a large table. The curvy black haired slave was laying spread-eagle on her back. A rope tied around each wrist and ankle held her loosely in place with plenty of slack in the lines, but despite her loose restraint the slave remained perfectly still. The reason why was obvious - she was laying atop a giant bed of nails!
The slave's light brown skin glistened in the light as she chomped down on the thick leather covered bit gag buckled into her mouth and stared intently at the device suspended from the ceiling a few feet above her. That item was a curious machine mounted just behind a short two foot wide conveyor belt. The conveyor belt rotated at a snail's pace. From the slave's vantage point she could not see if there was anything on top of it, but Rick and his guest could see that there was a small metal disc about the size of a quarter slowly making its way toward the end. Before it reached the end though, a second metal disc dropped out of the machine, this one, however, was glowing red hot.
The machine, as it happened, would periodically pop out these super heated discs at random positions up and down the belt. The end of the conveyor was situated so that when the heated disc reached the end it would topple down onto the torso of the slave below. Fortunately for the slave, the trip down the conveyor gave the disc enough time to cool down from 'red hot' to merely 'unbearably hot'.
Together the three spectators watched as the machine slowly turned. "The suspense is just terrible," Rick observed. "It almost seems worse than the torture itself."
A moment later the first disc reached the end of the conveyor belt and tumbled down onto the slave's waiting body where it landed flat against her navel. The slave screamed into her gag. She twisted and turned to and fro in an effort to buck the metal disc off of her body, heedless of the metal nails that she laid upon. The disc slowly wriggled and slid, leaving red burned skin in its wake before it finally fell harmlessly off to one side, joining a dozen other discarded and now cooled discs on the board beneath her.
The slave sobbed and panted for breath from the exertion. Her back and buttocks were surely as stabbed and scraped as a pin cushion. When she had finally regained her composure she resumed her vigil, staring up at the conveyor belt in anticipation of the next disc.
"Maybe I was wrong," Rick joked. "The suspense isn't worse than the pain." He surveyed the random red burn marks that were strewn randomly across the slave's body. "Sometimes they get lucky and the disc lands on end and it rolls right off. And other times, not so much." The slave winced as he ran his finger along the fresh burn.
They waited and watched for another few minutes as the next disc slowly crept down the conveyor. While it did, yet another red hot disc popped out of the machine and onto the belt. The slave's breathing grew faster, though she could not yet see where or when the next disc would fall. The observers watched with keen interest as it plopped down onto its waiting victim. It landed in the worst possible spot, right between the slave's two enormous breasts. The slave screamed and flailed as she tried to dislodge the hot metal from her cleavage. Her hips thrashed. Her shoulders bucked. Eventually she was able to slide the disc up and off her body over her shoulders, but not before subjecting her back and butt cheeks to further ravage from the nail bed beneath her.
"I could watch this all day," Rick remarked. "But we have other things to see."
He then turned to the slave. "Sorry to leave you so soon, but I'll give you a parting gift," he said. Rick then reached up to the machine and pressed an override switch four times. Each time he did a hot disc rolled out onto the conveyor belt. The slave would now have four nearly simultaneous discs to contend with once they made their way to the end of the belt.
"Our next stop is another one of specialty milk departments," Rick informed his guest. "Though I suspect the slaves like this next one a bit better than the one we just viewed." The two visitors exited through the same door that they came in from, leaving behind them a room full of miserable, stressed out slaves.
Chapter 5 - The Bad Touch
Rick guided his guest to the next room down the hall labelled 'Milk Additive Department Section B'.
"Our next specialty milk was discovered at essentially the same time as the first one that you just saw," he explained as he opened the door. As they walked in their ears were assaulted by a cacophony of moans. But these moans weren't the same anguished sounds of the previous room. No, these were moans of passion, sensuality, and also frustration.
"We had seen that the more attractive slaves often drew the attention of the guards who were eager to use their authority to vent some of their pent up sexual demand," he explained. "Many of the guards who visited these slaves were generous lovers and often drove their captives to orgasm. As we had learned with the cortisol on the stressed out slaves, the endorphins released after an orgasm also found their way into the milk. This, too, we now know provides an appealing taste to the discerning Vacarian consumer. Thus, was born 'Bliss Milk.' Come on, I'll show you around."
They approached a line of kneeling slaves with their necks tethered to the ground by short chains attached to their collars. A short wall separated each woman to prevent any unwanted communication between them, this was aided by the large penis gag strapped into each slave's mouth. The slaves' ankles were affixed to the floor about shoulder width apart by hinged metal shackles. Each slave's upturned ass showed prominently the same enormous buttplugs the observers had seen back in the milking room. Also adorning each ass was a heavy collection of cane marks. Some slaves had more than others, but no slave had been spared from what looked to be a rather sound thrashing.
"The first means we have of raising endorphin levels is a series of many small orgasms," Rick explained. "These slaves have been told that they will receive seventy five cane strokes during their next milking. However, for every orgasm they have before then the count will be reduced by five. They have been outfitted with brainwave monitors which are capable of detecting an orgasm, so faking will do them no good."
They watched for a moment as the girls put on their erotic show. Each one had a hand to her puffy pink pussy vigorously rubbing away at her swollen clit or sliding her fingers in and out of her soaking wet cunt. Mostly their eyes were closed, trying to imagine some sexual fantasy or pleasant memory, anything to help move them closer to orgasm. But a few stared intently at a small display mounted near their heads. It kept count of how much time there was until the next milking session and how many orgasms they had registered. There was less than five minutes left and no one had accumulated more than ten.
"Coming up will be the second of three milkings that the cows will have under this regimen," Rick stated. "The orgasms have a cumulative effect on raising the endorphin levels, but the slaves really have difficulty cumming during their third consecutive session and so the levels begin to taper off. Thus we give them a bit of a break after that. However, to make sure that they are fully motivated for their final shift, instead of cane strokes on their ass, it is strikes of a leather strap on their pussies. By the time that comes around their pussies are especially tender from all the masturbation, so the strappings are quite a sight to see! About half of the girls pass out from the pain, especially the ones who can't adequately reduce their punishment count."
As the clock ticked down its final minute the cows doubled their efforts in an attempt to squeeze out one final orgasm. They rubbed their pussies intently, the moaning increased in intensity. Several of the girls were rewarded with a shudder of pleasure rushing through their exhausted bodies as they came. Then a loud buzzer sounded and the display toggled from a count of the number of orgasms achieved to a count of the number of cane strokes earned. Several of the slaves sobbed in despair at the punishment that they now faced.
A trio of handlers entered the room carrying thick wooden canes. They rested them against the wall while they went from slave to slave attaching metal shackles to their wrists and securing them high up on their backs with a short chain connected to their collars. With their hands out of the way, the handlers flipped open a door in the floor next to each slave and pulled out the now familiar milking harness. As each slave's tits were fed into the harness the machines were switched on.
The room was soon filled with the cacophony of the machines sucking away the precious milk from the cows' swollen tits. This din was soon joined by the swish of the canes, the crack of the stiff wood meeting buttcheeks, and the cries and screams of the punished slaves. The handlers moved up and down the line efficiently and mercilessly dispensing their blows to the bruised and battered asses arrayed before them. After each strike landed the counter next to the slave automatically decremented.
By the time all the punishments had been meted out the sound of the room had morphed into the monotonous chug chug of the pumps and the soft sobs of the crying slaves.
"Some show, eh?" Rick remarked. "In a few minutes the girls will start up again on their final session. Come with me, next we'll see the other method we have for enhancing endorphin levels."
He guided his guest to the other side of the room where a collection of slaves kneeled before them. Each slave sat astride a rounded plastic box. Her legs were secured to the floor so that she could not lift herself from her perch atop the item. The slaves' heads were fitted into thick leather discipline helmets which blocked out all sight and sound in the room. Nevertheless muffled moans could be heard emanating from the packed mouths beneath the hoods. A rope attached through a ring in the top of each hood was tied to the ceiling overhead. This prevented the slaves from slouching. The girls' hands were trapped within thick leather mittens and tucked up out of the way behind their backs.
The slaves had what looked to be the standard milking rig strapped to their tits. However, these rigs were not operating in the usual way. Instead of the intense suction that pulled and stretched the nipples there was something different. Some of the slaves' nipples were being gently massaged with streams of water, or puffs of air.
"So instead of a bunch of little orgasms, this method seeks to raise endorphin levels with one big orgasm," Rick explained. "Through the miracle of your Vacarian brain scanners we are able to perfectly calibrate our devices for each slave to keep her just on the edge of orgasm for hours at a time. Each girl is sitting atop a pair of dildos that provide vaginal and anal stimulation, as well as a vibrator that massages her clit. That, in concert with a healthy amount of nipple play from our modified milking rigs allows us to titillate and tease the girls right up to the edge and keep them there until just before milking time."
Listening closer the visitors could hear the machines that the slaves sat astride whir to life with a thrust or two of a lubed up dildo, or the hum of a vibrator as it massaged a clit. The slaves reacted eagerly to each stimulus. Their hips pumped in time with the thrusts. Their tits wiggled delightfully from the nipple play. They ground their stimulated pussies into the machines as much as their bondage would allow. But the machine would always cut off before the pleasure could build too high. When it did the slave slouched down in frustration, whimpering sadly to herself as she was denied release yet again.
"By giving the slaves time between orgasms to recover we can keep them active for longer periods of time," Rick said. "This batch of cows have been here for over fifteen hours. In that time they've been brought to orgasm three times, with four hours in between where they were kept in frustration, on the verge of cumming, but unable to. We will probably keep them going for another two to three orgasms depending on the readings we get on their hormone levels."
Suddenly there was a noticeable silence as all the machines in the section ceased their ministrations. The slaves sat silently waiting for the devices to be reactivated to frustrate them further.
"Oh good, we're just in time for the big show," Rick said excitedly. "The machines power down for a few minutes just before we send them over the edge. That way they begin to calm down a little before we unleash one final furious push to rend a powerful orgasm from them."
The silence lingered. It was unclear whether or not the slaves knew what was coming. The hood denied them any sense of the passage of time and their brains had been addled by the constant frustration inflicted upon them. Some may have felt themselves begin to calm down for the first time in hours, but still they ground their pussies against the machines that tormented them in hopes of eking out enough sensation to fulfill their desires.
Then, all at once, every machine sprang to life. Dildos pumped, vibrators hummed, puffs of air and jets of water tweaked and teased at erect nipples. The slaves grew more animated. If they hadn't known what was coming their way before then they knew now. They wriggled along with the devices that fucked them long and deep. They bounced their tits in excitement. They shimmied and mashed their clits against the vibrators. Then, like fireworks bursting in the night sky, they came. One after another, screams of pleasure erupted from beneath the leather hoods. The slaves bounced excitedly. One could almost here them calling out "yes, yes, yes" through their gagged mouths as the machines manipulated them into bliss. By the end, the entire room was filled with exhausted and satisfied slaves, their skin flushed and sweaty from the arrival of a pleasure long denied. They panted, out of breath, and finally satisfied.
A few moments later and the slaves stiffened as the breast pumps came to life, now in their normal milk pumping mode. The chug chug sound filled the room as the slaves' tender pink nipples were stretched long by the suction, and the milk teased out. The pleasure of their experience faded quickly as their true reality reasserted itself. They were not there for pleasure. They were there to provide a product and they would be used however their handlers pleased to acquire it.
After the milking had been going for about five minutes the dildos and vibrators once more came to life. They vigorously pumped away in a furious effort to arouse their patrons. This was only the start of the next orgasm. One which was, a very distant, four hours away.
"I never get tired of watching that," Rick commented. "But we should get moving. If you've liked what you've seen so far, then you're going to love this next one."
Chapter 6 - Thriller
They entered the next area titled 'Milk Additive Department Section C'. This was not a single large room like the previous specialty areas, but rather a long hallway lined with several smaller rooms similar to the indoctrination area that they had first visited.
"With the success of our first two forays into specialty milk we began to explore what else we could do to enhance our product," Rick explained. "One thing we had noticed in the course of administering either of the previous two treatments was that we couldn't help but acquire a bit of adrenaline from the slaves as well. It is in the nature of humans for fear and excitement to be accompanied by the hormone. We sought to explore ways to reliably produce elevated levels of that and we have found some success, which has led to our newest product - 'Maxx Milk'."
"Initially our process was rather simple. We would subject the slaves to various mock executions. For example, we'd take them to a gallows, string a noose around their neck, and drop the platform only to have the rope break away at the last second. Or we'd strap them face up into a guillotine and let them watch as the blade came thundering down and then stop just a hair's width above their neck."
"This worked well at first. Nothing gets the heart racing like facing your certain death. However, after a few days of this the slaves began to recognize that we had no intention of ending their lives. Even the stupider among them knew that they were more valuable to us alive. Therefore, we had to devise new treatments. Something that would get their blood pumping just the same, but would keep them on their toes every time."
They walked up to the first window and peered in. Inside was a woman standing perfectly still in the center of the room. A loose fitting burlap sack covered her head, preventing her from looking around. A chain was wrapped around her waist and her handcuffed wrists were locked together in front of her and then attached to the waist chain. Her feet had been strapped into a pair of ballet boots, holding her up on the tips of her toes. Between her legs one could just barely make out the metallic glimmer of a small set of clamps that had been attached to her outer labia.
There was a short table in front of the slave. Mounted in the center of the table was a shiny metal dildo. It stood about eight inches tall and three inches thick, big, but by no means enormous. In front of the table was an electronic scoreboard, it read 'home' and 'away' with each team currently at zero. A countdown clock above the scores was fixed at twenty minutes.
"The first thing we came up with was a contest," Rick explained. "Human history is littered with tales of heart pounding spectacles and nail biting finishes between two athletes locked in competition. We figured that we could do the same. Though the winner does not achieve glory and fame. No, instead she avoids the punishment that awaits the loser."
"You'll notice that this slave's competitor is in the room behind us," he said. They looked through the window across the hall and saw another slave, identically restrained in a room with the same furnishings.
"We've devised several different competitions to give our slaves. But they all start out the same. That way they don't go anticipating what they will have to do. We set them up and leave them standing in the room for a random amount of time beforehand. So when the game finally starts it's a surprise. Being thrown right into the thick of it really gets them going," he explained. "Let's start them off, shall we?"
Rick pressed a big red button on the wall. Inside each room an ear splitting air horn blared indicating the start of the contest. The slaves jumped in surprise at the sudden noise. Each woman bent over as best they could to try and shake the burlap sack free from their heads. Rick watched in delight as their asses swayed enticingly back and forth from the effort. The first slave they had watched shook the bag free of her blonde haired head then stood up and looked around the room. When she saw the low table she quickly scurried over to it and climbed on. She nestled the tip of the dildo in her pussy and bit down into the ring gag that held her mouth agape as she slid her dry cunt down the cold metal shaft. Once she had worked herself most of the way down the hard cock she paused, took a breath, then furiously began fucking the dildo for everything she was worth. Up and down, up and down, with long deep thrusts, her toned thighs flexed with every stroke. Ahead of her on the scoreboard the 'home' team began to rack up points. Every sequence of in and out recorded one more as the clock on the wall counted down the time remaining.
Meanwhile in the other room the second slave was having difficulty removing the sack from her head. The burlap had managed to get tucked in beneath her collar. The viewers could see the slave howl in frustration as she frantically fought to remove the sack. Her hands clenched and unclenched uselessly as she struggled to free herself. After a time she finally managed to shake the sack free. The slave stood up, her long black hair already matted to her face with sweat, then dove towards the table before her. Already the scoreboard on the wall indicated that she was losing by half a dozen points. Throwing caution to the wind she rammed the dildo deep into her cunt. She howled in agony as she took all eight inches in with a single quick thrust, but then she quickly got to work.
The spectators watched for the next few minutes as the slaves vigorously rode the dildos up and down. The scoreboards on the wall kept track of it all. The competition was close and there were several lead changes along the way.
"This one is actually a pretty good matchup," Rick commented. "We rig the scoreboards if one slave starts to pull too far away. A close competition keeps them motivated right up to the end. Also we don't allow any one slave to win too often, we wouldn't want them getting complacent."
They stepped back to take in the sound of the contest. Both slaves grunted away as they fucked the living daylights out of the dildos beneath them. Any man in the world would have cum from the onslaught by now, but still they pumped away. Their breathing grew heavier as the competition wore on. Sweat poured from their bodies. Their milk swollen tits bounced up and down in time with their movements.
The scoreboard counted down its final minutes. The slaves stared at the display seeing that they were within a few points of each other. A final surge of adrenaline gave each woman a second wind. They ignored their burning thighs, their chafed pussies, their general exhaustion, for just a few more pumps.
As the clock hit zero a loud buzzer sounded indicating that time was up. Both woman slumped down, still impaled by the metal cocks, completely spent. They looked up to see the final score. A wail of dismay came from the black haired slave's room. She had lost by a single point. The blond, meanwhile, was sobbing in relief. She had won and would be spared the punishment that awaited the loser.
In the loser's room there was a metallic click as an electromagnet beneath the table activated and trapped the metal labia clamps in place against the table. The slave began to hyperventilate and squirm as she felt her punishment near. Then a few seconds later she let out an inhumane shriek as the dildo she sat upon came to life with electricity. The slave writhed and screamed as the dildo assaulted her well fucked hole from within with jolt after jolt. The slave instinctively tried to lift herself free from the source of her pain, but the labia clamps held her firmly in place, tugging at her pussy while she bounced and bucked in electric agony.
After several brutal minutes the assault mercifully stopped. The slave slumped down on the dildo and cried. The magnetic clamps no longer held her in place, but exhaustion kept her from lifting herself free.
The winning slave likewise remained in place atop her dildo while she waited for the part that inevitably came next. Sure enough, once the loser's punishment had been administered a handler arrived in each room to fit the slaves with their milking harnesses. The slaves sat obediently in place on the tables as their tits were sucked dry by the rigs. Rick and his guest walked farther down the hall. They passed several more pairs of rooms containing restrained slaves with canvas bags on their heads, each awaiting the start of her trial.
"The next thing we decided to use to elevate adrenaline levels was fear," Rick explained. "There are a few ways to go about it. Everyone is afraid of something so we give the cows an introduction to some of the classics: rats, snakes, spiders, whatever gets them screaming. But that only works for a little while before we need something more interactive."
They approached a room with tiles of various colors on the floor, on each tile was written what appeared to be a random number between one and one hundred. In the corner of the room was a cow standing nervously waiting for her trial to start. She teetered from foot to foot on the six inch heels that her feet had been pressed into. Around her waist she wore a thick leather belt with a strap running down from the front, in between her legs, and connecting to the back. It held in place a pair of modest six inch dildos, one for her ass and one for her pussy. Her tits sported a pair of nipple clamps which were joined together by a thin chain. That chain was connected to another thin chain which was attached loosely to a series of tracks on the ceiling. Her wrists and neck had been locked in a heavy wooden stock. A pair of anxious eyes peered out from behind her black, latex hood staring at the wall in front of her. And a trail of drool leaked out around a large red ball gag that had been buckled into her mouth.
"This is a fun little game we like to play," Rick explained. "There is a path from the corner that the slave is standing in to the corner on the opposite side of the room. The slave will be presented with several math problems to show her the way. If she steps on the tile containing the correct answer, nothing happens, she continues along. If she steps on a tile containing the wrong answer, then she will be punished. Let's begin."
He pressed a button on the panel next to the door. The wall that the slave stared at quickly flashed a simple arithmetic problem for just a second. The slave sighed in relief, she knew the answer and stepped onto the adjacent tile with the correct number, the chain connecting her nipples to the ceiling followed along in one of the available tracks. There was no indication that she was right other than the lack of reaction on her part. She paused on the new tile awaiting the next clue.
The next math problem, which briefly showed on the wall, was much more complex. The slave squealed in frustration as she struggled to solve the clue. She waited a few seconds before taking a tentative step onto a tile. Initially it appeared that the slave had guessed right, she stood up straighter and nervously waited for the next clue. Then, out of nowhere, the wall display flashed red. The slave shrieked as her nipple clamps came alive with electricity. Her tits bounced erratically up and down, flinging the clamps this way and that. This was quickly followed by a sharp crack, which elicited a further howl as a bullwhip swung out of a hidden compartment on one of the walls and laid a stripe across the back of the slave's thighs. In addition to this, and unseen to the viewers, the dildos strapped into the slave's pussy and ass each inflated a little bit larger.
The slave returned to the previous tile, sobbing. Her legs trembled slightly as she awaited the hint once again. This time, with one of the wrong answers eliminated, she was able to guess correctly and proceeded to the next tile.
"We give them a mix of easy and hard questions," Rick explained. "Though some of the cows are so stupid that they don't know the answer to any of them. Those are the ones that put on a really good show. We also have a random delay before indicating a right or wrong answer. The suspense of not knowing really gets them going pretty good."
They watched as the slave got two more correct answers. She was beginning to grow more confident as she approached her destination. But that confidence was torn away as the next math problem was displayed. The slave clearly did not know the answer and she took a tentative step forward. She braced herself for pain, waiting five seconds, ten seconds, they could see her heart pounding in her chest. But nothing happened and she stood up straighter sensing the danger had passed. Just as she did she was rocked by another electric shock to her tits, another lash from the bullwhip, this time across her exposed buttocks, and another increase in the size of the dildos. The slave retreated back to her previous tile, slumped over in pain.
The problem flashed again on the wall. This time the slave thought she had a grasp on the solution. The spectators watched in amusement as she counted on her fingers, her dainty wrists locked in the stocks out away from her head. She finally appeared to have arrived at the answer, but before she could take a step toward the correct tile she was hit with another punishment. The slave squealed in agony, nearly losing her footing and falling over.
"There's a time limit on how long they get to reach an answer," Rick said. "We don't want them taking all day."
With tears streaming down her eyes the slave recovered and shuffled over to the tile containing the correct answer. The three red welts laid across of the back of her legs glowed bright red against her pale skin. She stood now with her legs slightly farther apart to accommodate the larger dildos stuffed into her holes.
They watched for a few more minutes. The slave was clearly beginning to lose focus and she made more and more mistakes. Nevertheless she was making clear progress towards her destination. She was only a few steps away but the punishments had taken their toll. Her backside was awash in welts from the bullwhip. The dildos in her pussy and ass had grown to such an extreme size that they bulged obscenely from their overstretched homes. The leather strap strained to keep them stuck firmly in place. The slave shivered uncontrollably, rattled from the accumulated abuse she'd suffered. She knew that she couldn't take much more. Somehow she remained upright but it looked like even a gentle breeze would topple her over.
"You may be wondering why she is so motivated to finish?" Rick asked. "Well she has been told that if she fails this challenge then her next assignment will be producing Moan Milk instead of heading back to the standard cow rotation that we typically give them to recover. Needless to say, she certainly doesn't want to fail."
The slave advanced to the next tile with another correct answer. She was now one answer away from completion. She struggled to remain upright as looked to the wall for the clue. She moaned as she saw the next equation. It may as well have been in Greek, she had no chance at deriving the answer. She would have to guess.
It was obvious to the cow and everyone watching that one more failure would almost certainly send her toppling to the floor. The slave looked at the floor and made a guess. She shuffled painfully over to her chosen tile, the enormous dildos hindering her every movement. She stopped on the tile and waited. The viewers watched with bated breath to see if she was wrong or right. The slave waited anxiously, her heart visibly pounding in her chest. Then, after what felt like an eternity the wall flashed green and a soft tone sounded. She had made it.
The slave slumped against the wall of the room in relief, then her battered legs gave out and she fell to floor. She shrieked as the nipple clamps snapped free of her tits. She laid on the ground face up with her legs splayed out. The dildos looked like they were ready to explode inside her. She sobbed as a handler arrived to take her away for milking.
"I really didn't think that she'd make it," Rick admitted. "That was a good one. We've devised all sorts of fun little games just like this. It really gets the cows going. But we should get moving. I've got one last section to show you before our tour is complete."
Chapter 7 - Big Me
Rick led his guest to the next and final stop on the tour. They stood before a door marked 'Milk Additive Department Section D'.
"This is our newest foray into specialty milks," Rick explained. "It's only been going for about a month and we're not entirely sure we'll have a market for it, but initial results seem promising. Allow me to introduce you to 'Thicc Milk'."
He unlocked the door and ushered his guest inside. They entered a large dark room. Along the walls on either side was a row of heavy wooden chairs, ten on each side. Each chair was occupied by a slave held in place by a series of elastic straps over her ankles, thighs, wrists, and shoulders. Each slave wore a thick rubber hood covering her entire head, save for two small airholes beneath her nose. A clear tube snaked out of the hood near the mouth of each slave and ran up to a large vat of gray sludge mounted above the chair. The slaves' tits were strapped in the familiar milking rig from the other rooms. Beneath the chairs there were cutouts in the seat which allowed two tubes, one connected to a catheter and another attached to an enema plug, to attach seamlessly to the heavy rubber panties that each slave wore.
The slaves sat in quiet misery, slowly sucking down the contents of the tubes running into their mouths. The thing that stood out to one who had just taken the complete tour of the farm was that these slaves didn't look like the rest of the cows. Where the other cows were toned and muscular from their strenuous punishments and rigorous exercise regimes, these cows were pudgier. Their thighs were thicker, their massive tits even more massive, their tummies spilled out over their tight rubber bikinis which strained at the seams to hold the big, round asses packed within.
"This is an idea that we've considered for a while, but didn't dare to try. That is until we saw the success of our other specialty products," Rick explained. "Normally we strictly control the slaves' diet to maximize milk production and keep the slave in peak health. We want to keep them productive for years and years after all. But this process takes a different approach. Here we are trying to maximize fat content in the milk. The slaves are trickle-fed a diet of high fat slurry twenty four hours a day. You know, I'd have thought a high fat diet would be delicious, but this stuff is just absolutely awful. I nearly threw up when I tried it."
They walked up to one of the slaves to take a closer look. Rick gave her thick thighs a playful pinch, the slave squeaked in surprise. The slimy gray mush from the vat overhead slowly oozed down the tube in spurts as the hooded slave sucked on the end that was inserted into her mouth. A machine kicked on beneath the slave and they watched as the slave's doughy tummy expanded further as an oversized enema was piped into her ass. The slave moaned in discomfort as she was pumped full and then flushed out.
"These cows are our first group that we've given this treatment to," Rick said. "They've been here for a little over three weeks. With a constant supply of food and the catheters and enemas we can keep them strapped to the chairs all day, every day. One thing that we haven't yet decided is whether to keep these cows like this indefinitely or to rotate them in with the other treatments. There's no doubt that we can get them to lose the extra weight with an extra rigorous exercise routine, but we're not sure whether the health effects from this diet merit subjecting our entire population of cows to the treatment even if it's only for a month or so at a time."
Just then they were interrupted by a soft beep coming from the feeding machine on the slave next to the woman they were examining. The offending slave shifted against her bonds as the straps holding her to the chair tightened. She then began to grunt as dull metal spikes poked in and out of the chair at random locations all over the back and the seat. For the next minute the intensity of the assault crescendoed and the slave grew more animated as the attack on her body grew more intense. Then, as soon as it began, it stopped. The straps loosened from excruciatingly tight to merely painfully tight and the chair returned to its inert state.
"Tsk, tsk," Rick admonished. "This slave stopped eating long enough to trigger an infraction. They are required to suck on their feeding tubes twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. If the machine detects no activity for more than five minutes then they are punished, and the punishments get more severe with each infraction through the course of a day."
Rick slapped the offending slave's meaty thigh. She jumped in surprise. "For the first few days the punishments were being activated regularly, both from slaves thinking they could refuse to eat and also from them falling asleep. The first problem worked itself out once the cows realized the futility of their resistance. As for sleeping, when you spend all day every day sucking on a tube you eventually tend to find yourself doing it even in your sleep. And for the ones who don't, well they get a nasty reminder to get them going again."
They patrolled up and down the rows of slaves, each one mindlessly sucking down the noxious food. The cows shifted uncomfortably in the chairs that they had been strapped to for weeks.
"Once a day we have the handlers come by and apply electro-stim machines to various parts of their bodies. We don't want their muscles to atrophy too much while they're here, though we also don't want to burn any more calories than we have to," he explained. Down the line they heard another slave squeal in pain as she had activated the punishment mode of her chair, this time her punishment was a burning hot enema. The slave thrashed against her bonds as half a gallon of piping hot water was pumped into her bowels. Sweat formed all over the skin of the frantic slave. It wasn't until the liquid began to cool that it was finally pumped out.
Rick smiled with amusement and led his guest back to the entrance. "That concludes the tour," he said. "I hope that you liked what you saw. We have plenty more exciting ideas planned. And just this week we got permission from Vacarian high command to begin our slave breeding program. The first treatments to reverse the infertility disease will be starting tomorrow. Our long term forecasts for growth are phenomenal and with your support the sky is the limit. Thank you for coming by. Feel free to come back to visit any time."
Epilogue - No Rest For The Wicked
Rick loosened his tie as he scanned his palm on the lock to enter his apartment. It was well into the night, he had needed to stay late to catch up on the work he had missed while he was giving the VIP the tour. He still had no idea as to what his guest had thought of the tour. Vacarians were notoriously difficult to read.
He was just about to head into the kitchen for something to eat when he heard his tablet chirp. It was a message from the head of Terran Farms:
Our distinguished visitor was immensely impressed by the operation that you are running. He has agreed to fully fund any further expansion and has even expressed interest in standing up an additional site. You have done a commendable job.
We have delivered a small token of our appreciation to your living quarters. It is yours to keep and you may do with it as you like. In addition, you may take an excused absence from work tomorrow.
Rick put down his tablet and looked around his apartment. He hadn't noticed any gifts. He set down his things and headed to the bedroom to look there. As his footsteps echoed down the hall he heard a shuffling noise and a low moan.
"Hello?" he heard a female voice call out from his room. "Is there somebody there? Please help me."
Rick stepped into the room and flipped on the light. There, tied spread-eagle on the bed lay Mary, his favorite cow and old foe. Her swollen tits jiggled delightfully as she struggled against the ropes holding her wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed.
"Oh, Rick," she said as she looked up at him. "Thank goodness it's you. Please milk me! I haven't been emptied since this morning. My tits hurt so bad!"
Rick was momentarily stunned at the unexpected surprise. He quickly shed his clothes as he approached the bed. He reached into a drawer on his nightstand for a bottle of lubricant. Then climbed onto the bed and sat straddling Mary's torso. An enormous grin flashed on his face.
"Sure, I'll milk you," he said. "But first, you gotta milk me!"
He squirted the lube between her tits and placed his rock hard cock on her chest. He grabbed ahold of Mary's firm, milk-swollen tits and pressed them together around his dick. Mary groaned from the rough treatment of her overfull breasts, but Rick ignored her protest as he proceeded to get the greatest titty fuck in the history of the galaxy.