Milking, humiliation

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Missing Another tale from the Farm – Part 1

Oliver walked along the empty street, his eyes glued to a tiktok video playing on his phone screen, when he heard a voice behind him.

“Hey, you’re Oliver, right?”

Oliver looked up surprised and turned to face the young woman who had addressed him. She was in her early twenties and pretty, but he’d never seen her before in his life.

“Yeah, who are you?”

She smiled and ignored his question.

“I heard your dad and brother went missing?”

He frowned, instantly serious. His father Jason, had been gone for three years. Just gone. No warning. No goodbye note. Simply vanished from their lives. His mother had reported him missing after a couple of days, but with no hint as to why he’d left, there was nothing for the police to follow up on. They suggested that maybe he had left of his own accord.

“Is it possible he was seeing someone else?” they asked.

His mother was outraged at the question. They had a happy marriage, but Oliver and his older brother Thomas could tell that it was a question that weighed on her mind over time.

Then two years later, Thomas disappeared in much the same way. One evening, he simply never returned home from work. The following morning, his mother called the building supplies company where her 23-year-old son made a living. Apparently, he’d been in the day before, and left as usual at the end of the day. Then nothing. It was as if he’d dropped off the face of the planet.

And now this stranger was talking to Oliver about it.

His frown deepened.

“Why are you asking? Who are you?”

She reached into the bag she was carrying, and handed him two pieces of clothing; a cap and a T-shirt. He recognised them both. The dark grey cap belonged to his father. It bore an engineering company logo. The shirt showed the logo of Thomas’s former college wrestling team.

Oliver took the two items and stared at them in shock for a second.

“Where did you get these?!” he demanded.

“A friend gave them to me. I know where your brother and dad have gone. Would you like to see them again?”

“Of course I would.”

He thought for a moment.

“They are still alive aren’t they?”

“Of course they are. They work for my boss.”

“What kind of work?” he asked suspiciously.

“They’re working on a farm.”

“A farm? Why would they be working on a farm, they don’t know anything about farming.”

The woman shrugged.

“Guess my boss made them a great offer.”

“Are they okay? I want to speak to them. Where are they?”

“Whoa, easy. I can take you to the farm if you like?”

“Where is it?”

“Couple of miles outside town. Take 10 minutes to get there. I have a car; I can give you a ride.”

“Why are you doing this? Why didn’t they contact me? Why did they disappear like that?”

Warning lights were firing off in Oliver’s brain.

“Well, I have to be honest, it’s not a regular farm. We make… product that we don’t really want anyone knowing about. Maybe you’ll get to find out more if your father and brother decide to tell you. For now, they just want to see you. They miss you.”

“Why don’t they just come home then?”

“Look it’s complicated. You’ll understand when you meet them. Do you want to come or not?”

“I’ll just call my mom and let her know where I’m going.”

“I don’t think you understand. It’s not the sort of farm you tell your mother about.”

She briefly raised her eyebrows.

“Now if you want to come, turn your phone off and follow me, or you can stay here. It’s up to you.”

She started to walk off. Oliver stood for a few moments pondering the situation. This felt so off, but she was smaller than he was, and he was positive he could take her in a physical altercation. He looked around. There was nobody else on the street, but he decided to take the risk, and he hurriedly trotted to catch her up.

“Phone off,” she said.

It wasn’t a request, and he pressed the power button to turn his phone all the way off.

She led him to her vehicle; a blue Honda Civic; the least glamourous car imaginable, but seeing it calmed him. Kidnappers didn’t drive cars like this did they?

She climbed into the driver’s side. He looked through the windows. There was nobody else inside. He opened the passenger side door and got in.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“You’ll see soon enough,” she replied.

From then on, every attempt he made to elicit more information only drew the same result. She turned the radio on, tuned it to a rock station, and turned the volume up. Oliver got the message and stopped talking.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled the vehicle off the main road, driving down a side road that was little more than a dirt track. Oliver looked ahead. To either side of the road were corn fields, and off into the distance he could see a series large farm buildings that could be storage sheds. He never came this far out of town, but the sight eased his fears.

A few minutes later, the woman pulled up outside a large painted metal building that looked as though it might house tractors and other agricultural equipment.

She parked the car, and he got out, carrying the T-shirt and cap. She approached a door and pressed a buzzer beside it.

“Yes?” a voice said.

“It’s Hannah, Oliver Wells is with me.”

“Ah good, bring him through.”

There was a buzzing noise, and the electronic door lock released with a gentle click. She pulled the door outwards, and gestured to Oliver to enter.

Inside the warehouse-sized building, there were rows of livestock stalls each containing cows on one side, and horses on the other.

“This way,” Hannah said amiably.

He did as she asked, and she led him along a concrete path dividing the two halves of the barn. Some of the animals were making animated noises.

Moving in and out from stall to stall, there was a huge number of farm workers attending to the animals.

He noticed that most of the cows had milking tubes attached to their udders. He looked to the other side and saw that the horses all appeared to be males, with enormous, pendulous testicles and a similar tube attached to their penises. They were puffing and panting, clopping up and down on the spot, their hooves making a noise against the straw covered floor.

“What are you doing to the horses?” Oliver asked, surprised.

“Milking them,” Hannah replied.

“Milking their dicks?” Oliver sniggered, incredulously.

“Spunk is valuable.”

25 metres down the barn, they were greeted by two men wearing work overalls.

“Hey Hannah. Great job as always,” one of the men said.

“Thanks Stephen. Always happy to help.”

He turned to Oliver.

“And you must be Oliver?”

 “Yes. She said my dad and brother work here?”

The man smiled.

“Straight to the point. Jason and Thomas Wells correct?”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

“Very good. Yes, they are working here. They’re two of our more valuable employees. I’ll take you to meet them straight away. I expect you’ve missed them?”

“Yes, a lot. So has my mom.”

Oliver was almost exploding with excitement at the thought that he would get to meet them again soon, but his excitement was restrained by the strangeness of the situation.

“I can imagine,” Stephen said. “Why don’t you come with me then.”

The man led the way, and Hannah walked beside them. Oliver noticed with some small measure of nervousness, that the other man walked behind them, as though barring his retreat.

They walked to the end of the barn, then through a door at right-angles to the first one. The door clicked automatically closed and locked behind them, and the second they passed through, the atmosphere was different. There was a pungent scent of sweat in the air, but more significantly, the air was filled with low moaning and groaning coming from hundreds of vocal cords. Oliver furrowed his brow. The sounds seemed human. Within seconds, his suspicions were confirmed.

On one side of the walkway, there were hundreds of naked women ranging in age from young teens up to women in their fifties.

They were lined, face down on furniture that looked like weight lifting benches. Rigid, rubberised frames around their back, shoulders, and waists, held each of them in place. Where their chests would have rested on the padded benches, there were cut-out holes, allowing their naked breasts to dangle through like cow udders.

They all had large transparent collection cups over their dangling breasts. Oliver could see that a rhythmic suction force caused the breast to expand and relax, and small jets of milk intermittently squirted from some of the cups.

On the ground, 10 litre collection jars were filled to varying degrees with female milk.

But what made the scene particularly bewildering, was the posture of their lower bodies. Clamps gripped each female just below the knees, and were lifted, raising their knees about a foot higher than their heads, and spreading their thighs wide. Their shins mostly bent back towards their bottoms, making each of them look like swimming frogs.

The females faced inwards towards the walkway, but Oliver could see that plastic cylinders were pushed between their legs, entering their pussies. Most of them were leaking sex juice; others were dry.

Oliver was surprised by how unselfconscious they appeared to be, despite their nudity, and the fact that they were obviously being maintained at a constant state of sexual arousal. Some of them were clearly too preoccupied by their arousal to care about what was going on around them, with expressions of lust on their faces, squirming in slow motion as they responded to the sensation between their legs. Others looked at him, or into space with near-blank expressions of total disinterest. But there was another common expression that Oliver struggled to put his finger on. Was it pity?

Oliver’s mouth gaped wide in shock. He looked to the other side. As with the previous room, that side exclusively held males. Human males. Like the women, the youngest was maybe not quite into his teens, but the eldest was much older than the women; perhaps in his seventies.

They were also held in the same position, with their cocks dangling down from their inverted groins, but rather than having plastic cylinders jammed into vaginas, the plastic tubes were inserted in their assholes. Oliver realised with mild distaste that the tubes were probably dildos.

He saw that each of the males had a two-centimetre tall, soft latex ring encircling his penis snugly just behind the glans.

He wondered why they didn’t simply rip the pumps off their dicks, then he noticed that both males and females had their hands secured to the front legs of the benches their chests rested on, and their legs, were similarly secured by the knees, spreading them so that they could not dislodge the dildos.

The males writhed and groaned, clearly in a state somewhere between orgasmic ecstasy and sexual exhaustion. He looked at their faces. Some were resigned; some were in an ecstatic trance-like state; and still others wore desperate, pleading expressions. But the expression that Oliver most commonly saw, was red-faced, horny exhaustion, and unlike the hundreds of porn videos he’d seen, these expressions were not acted.

He couldn’t tell how many times each of the males had cum, but chilled collection tubes measuring 4 centimetres across, stood on the ground between their knees, and held anywhere from a single vertical centimetre, to 10 centimetres of spunk.

“You’re collecting their jizz?” he asked redundantly.

“Very observant,” the man responded with a wry smile, winking at Hannah.

“Why?”

“Human semen is very valuable. Much more so than horse semen.”

“It is? What do they do with it?”

“Oh, there’s a wide range of applications – laboratories use it for research, some people think it has anti-aging properties, others believe it staves off balding, or increases virility. Some people even like to drink it. Especially the younger vintage.”

“Younger vintage?” Oliver asked, continuing to follow the man past dozens of milked males.

“Yes, like this one,” Stephen said, gesturing to a youth beside them.

The boy he gestured to had a pale, finger-thin, but surprisingly long penis and no pubes, but his cylinder contained almost 2 centimetres of watery cum. His eyelids were droopy, his mouth lolled open, and he looked as though he was barely aware of their presence.

“The youngest ones cope with milking the worst. They aren’t used to cumming. Most of them trip out pretty soon. But the old ones cum stronger, so it hits them hard too; especially the ones who have been donors a long time.”

“Same with the girls,” Hannah added. “Virgins lose their fucking minds for the first six months.”

The other man smirked.

Stephen continued, “Of course, far and away the largest use for semen is for animal feed.”

“Animal feed?!” Oliver queried. “Animals eat jizz?”

“Oh yes, especially pigs. It acts like a growth serum. I doubt you ever considered when you eat your bacon, that it was probably fattened on human semen?”

Oliver looked queasy.

“Bacon?”

“Oh yes, it’s standard practice in the pork industry. Pretty much all pigs are raised on human semen. That’s why I don’t eat bacon.”

“That’s a lot of ji… semen,” Oliver said, avoiding using crude terminology.

“Oh yes, tens of thousands of litres a day. Collection is quite the industry. Totally secret of course. Can you imagine how few men would still eat pork if they knew it was fattened on semen?”

“Not many…”

They approached a man whose collection tube contained a full 10cm of cum. The man looked as though he was aged about 23 – the same age as Oliver’s brother. He looked utterly exhausted. His floppy hair was dark with sweat and hung down over his eyes, his face was a bright blush of exertion.

“That’s a LOT of semen,” Oliver noted.

Stephen hefted the young man’s testicles. They were enormous; larger than duck eggs. Electrical contacts were attached to the scrotum right by the testicles. The skin had been shaved to allow the current to pass easily. The man moaned softly at the touch, but Oliver couldn’t tell if the noise was pleasure or discomfort.

Stephen glanced at the measurements on the cylinder and performed a quick mental calculation.

“Hmmm, 10 ticks. That’s 125 cubic centimetres.”

“How many times did he cum to fill that?” Oliver asked.

“Same as all the other males here. About 100 times.”

“Oh wow. How many weeks did THAT take?”

Oliver couldn’t help but wonder how long his own modest-sized balls would take.

“Weeks?” Stephen queried.

He smirked at Hannah again.

“That’s since this morning. They all get reset every day. Some are just better producers than others.”

Oliver gaped, barely able to imagine squirting 100 times in a day, much less producing that much jizz. His testicles tingled at the thought.

“That’s crazy. How much do they get paid?”

“Paid?” Stephen laughed. “They don’t get paid.”

“But why would they do it if they don’t get…”

Oliver suddenly put two and two together and a light went on in his head. The chains suddenly made sense. He felt moronic for not immediately recognising the truth, but he was thrown by the cows and horses. He suddenly got a deep feeling of dread, and it showed on his face.

An unsettling smile slowly spread across Stephen’s in return.

“They’re not volunteers son. Where did you get that idea?”

Oliver’s mouth opened and closed but he couldn’t find any words to say.

Stephen spoke again.

“I think it’s about time we went and found your father and your brother don’t you?”

Oliver nodded mutely, and Stephen led him past dozens more involuntary semen donors, each laying prone with his knees spread wide. He couldn’t understand why his father and Thomas would work in such a place. What had they gotten themselves into?

Walking down the barn, another man caught Oliver’s eye. He was ancient; at least 80 years-old, and emaciated, with skin hanging from his bones. His expression was resigned, like a dog that is too old to run any more. But what particularly drew Oliver’s attention were his balls. They were gargantuan; the size of two soccer balls, drooping two feet from his groin in a low, pendulous sack. In spite of himself, Oliver stopped in amazement, looking at the man’s freakish testicles.

“Ahhh, yes, William. He’s our longest serving donor. Been here 40 years. His bollocks are quite impressive aren’t they?”

Oliver had not heard that slang for “testicles” before, but he correctly guessed the word’s meaning. He nodded.

“They’re huge.”

“Yes, it’s taken a long time to get them that big. He’s one of our best donors. If we can get everyone’s nuts that big in a quarter the time, we’d make a lot more money. We’re testing new growth formulations so fingers crossed.”

Oliver noticed the collection cylinder beneath the man’s geriatric penis. It contained 25 centimetres of spunk.

“Anyway, let’s move on,” Stephen said. “You wanted to say hello to your father.”

They continued down the barn, but Oliver rubbernecked the old geezer as long as he could see him.

As they finally neared the end of the enormous barn, Oliver encountered a sight that made him sick to his stomach. His own father was naked, and ten feet away from him, his brother. Both were resting on their chests, knees spread, cocks dangling, and semen collection jars beneath them.

Oliver had always seen both of them as powerful, masculine men; more than capable of handling themselves in almost any situation, but now they both rested in that undignified position, backs arched, rings on their hard dicks, drooling like a pair of horny virgin simps in the presence of a room full of porn stars.

Oliver stopped in his tracks as he saw them.

“D… daad? Thomas?” said incredulous.