Forced milking, humiliation

A ranch hand discovers what it’s like to become one of the herd.

Miguel

Miguel waited in front of the gorgeous period Spanish-style house that formed the centrepiece of Hacienda Sanchez. It stood against a backdrop of jungle, while in the opposite direction, the terrain opened into lush grazing land, where herds of cattle and horses spent their days.

Mistress Sophia Sanchez approached from the house. He did not know why she had called him, but he was worried.

“Miguel, how many times have I told you not to pursue the young women?” she demanded without prelim.

“Mistress?” he said, feigning ignorance.

“Don’t play dumb with me Miguel. I’ve told you half a dozen times or more to keep your dick in your pants, and your hands off the young women. I need them to work the fields. I pay YOU to work the livestock. You’re excellent at your job, and the hacienda needs you, but I cannot have you upsetting the female staff.”

“No mistress,” he said, deciding it would be unwise to play dumb anymore.

“I’m going to have to let you go. You’ve been with our family for 30 years, but if the young women are afraid to see you coming, how can they do their work?”

“L…let me go mistress?” he said, his stomach tightening with sudden dread. “No, please, anything but that. I’ll change. Cut my pay, punish me, but where would an old man like me get another job? I’ll be reduced to the streets.”

“You should have thought of that before you put your hands where they did not belong Miguel. I like you, and you manage the livestock well, but I cannot trust you. You’re like a horny dog who keeps rubbing against everyone’s leg.”

His blush barely showed against his brown Mexican skin, but he looked shame-faced.

“Please mistress, just one more chance. I swear I won’t let you down again.”

She stared hard at him for a long time; an uncomfortably long time. He squirmed like a child in need of the lavatory. Eventually she spoke.

“Alright Miguel, for old time’s sake, but I’m going to punish you just to make sure the message sinks in. Return tomorrow at 10am.”

His brows furrowed, as he wondered what the punishment would be. He would not be the first employee to feel the whip. Given the crushing Mexican poverty, like him, they would sooner take two dozen stripes than be fired.

“Yes mistress. Thank you, mistress.”

“Now return to your work.”

He removed his cowboy hat bowed his head deferentially. He still had black hair despite being in his mid-sixties, but his moustache was peppered with grey. He took a few backwards steps, bowing obsequiously, then turned and left.

The next day, he arrived at the sandy courtyard in front of the main house. He arrived a few minutes before the agreed upon time, and she was already waiting for him. He was surprised to see that she was accompanied by her six daughters; women ranging from 15 to 30 years of age.

On the dusty ground, there stood a heavy iron frame, which he assumed he would forced to bend over, or even tied to. Lying beside it was a curled whip. He didn’t look forwards to the idea of being whipped, but it was preferable to being reduced to destitution at his age.

He stood just 5’ 3” tall, and the mistress stood at least six inches above him, but even if he were not such a small man, he would never stand against her. She was a highly capable woman who would hold her own in a bare-knuckle fight against any man. She’d raised her daughters to be equally tough; all except 15-year-old Clara. She was sweet as honey, and while Miguel would gladly have bedded any of them, he knew it was more than his life was worth to even contemplate it.

“Take your shirt off Miguel,” Mistress Sofia instructed him.

He complied without question.

“Now bend forwards and put your head through this hole.”

She gestured to a semi-circular hole, formed by curved iron beams.

Miguel took his ancient cowboy hat off, leaned forwards and put his head through the hole, and she lowered an upper half, trapping his head in place.

“Now put your hands here.”

She gestured to two bars adjacent to his head. As soon as he put his hands down, she cuffed them in place. He stood, bent over at the waist to 90 degrees, unable to free himself, forced by the frame to look straight ahead. He felt his boots being removed, then his socks. He couldn’t understand why they would need to be taken off to whip him. Then his belt buckle was undone and his jeans were pulled down in a single movement, pulling them away entirely, leaving them puddled to his side.

So, he was to whipped on the buttocks? He wished he’d worn better underpants than the tatty white Y-fronts he had on. Then he felt hands on them, and they too, were pulled off, landing atop his jeans.

He was completely naked now. He hadn’t expected this humiliation. But maybe he deserved it? He would take the whipping like a man, then control his libido; keep away from the girls who worked the hacienda; maybe save his lust for one of the women for hire in the town. He could use his fist if that was all he had.

He resolved to stand, silent and stalwart, not showing his fear or embarrassment before this gaggle of women.

He felt pressure between his knees. Something metallic; two bars that pivoted on the ground a foot in front of his head. The bars pressed against his flesh six inches above his knees, parting them, spreading his legs until they stood a yard apart. The bars stopped moving but they were locked in place. He felt incredibly exposed. The air was hot, but his genitals felt cool, dangling between his wide legs.

Why was this pose needed to whip his ass?

“Mistress, what are you doing? Surely this is not needed for a whipping?”

She snorted.

“Pfft, who said anything about whipping you Miguel? You have proven that your balls control you. There is only one solution; to empty them; to milk you like one of the stallions you breed, although looking at your worm, you are no stallion, and never were.”

Her daughters laughed at the comment. Miguel’s penis was not even three inches long, including its foreskin. Beneath, hung an unremarkable pair of testicles. The skin of both penis and testicles was many shades darker than his dusky skin; as brown as any African man.

Above, his pubic hair was thinning.

Sofia reached between his legs from behind and grasped his bag roughly. He flinched, shocked.

“This is your last chance, Miguel. Once I drain your balls, you will control your pathetic dick in future, or spend the rest of your life on the streets.”

He felt her attaching a clamp to each of his testicles. The clamps were not painful, but it was unsettling to feel his balls being gripped so firmly.

“Mistress?” he queried.

“We’re going to shake the spunk right out of your balls. I’m going to rattle them so thoroughly, you’ll be walking like a knock-kneed newborn foal for a month.”

Her daughters laughed at the visual image, but there was nothing funny about her actions; at least not from Miguel’s perspective.

He felt her spread the cheeks of his bottom with her first finger and thumb. Then he felt something hard and slippery pressing again his sphincter, and he guessed correctly that it was an electro-ejaculator. He’d done the same thing to hundreds of stallions, inserting one into their anuses.

He preferred not to force the cum from them using a high voltage shock; they found it traumatic and resented it afterwards, becoming surly and hard to manage, and it made it harder for subsequent collections. Instead, he ran the device at a constant medium voltage, keeping the animals in a high state of arousal, while they enthusiastically fucked a soft, leather-covered artificial mount. He’d let them go at it for five minutes, then send a series of quick pulses to their prostates, stimulating a powerful orgasm.

The slender ejaculator slid inside him. It was a smaller model, probably the one used on sheep and goats, and Sofia somehow knew exactly how far to insert it into a human. The stainless-steel end pressed Miguel’s prostate, and even though it was not yet powered, the contact on his gland alone gave him a thrill in his genitals, as though he was ejaculating without the orgasm.

Then he felt the current tingling through the organ. He would desperately rather not be here at all, being humiliatingly milked like one of their animals, but if it had to happen, he prayed that she would be kind, rather than simply turning the voltage dial up to maximum, and leaving him to blow his nuts.

He’d seen impatient ranchers do it to horses. The animals would involuntarily clop and dance;  whinnying and braying in distress. They were not in control their bodies, their pelvises thrusting their enormous cocks repeatedly, unable to prevent themselves, ejaculating cup-loads of cum, and forced to keep squirting until their balls ceased pumping out of sheer exhaustion.

In the immediate aftermath, the animals were sapped, and needed to be led on shaky legs back to their stalls where they immediately collapsed to the hay in an exhausted pile, falling into a long sleep. And then afterwards, while they eventually recovered their strength, they were never quite the same. They always had a fearful look in their watery eyes, as though they were terrified of a recurrence. Miguel wondered what those stallions would say if they could speak.

And now he was in the same position, praying to the good will of a mistress who was rightfully angry with him.

He felt his cock hardening, its head sliding from the dark brown foreskin that covered it. He was a lustful man for his age. When married men just wanted a quiet life, and sex once a month with their wives, Miguel was almost as horny as a young man, and on the off-chance that it would lead to real thing, he never missed an opportunity to steer a conversation to the subject of sex with the young women who worked the fields.

His cock lifted half way to his belly, its glans a bright red against the dark brown skin. It was harder than he’d known it for many a year. He supposed that was down to the electric current.

Miguel had collected semen from many animals as part of the estate’s breeding program, but never in his wildest imagination had it occurred to him that he might one day be the one getting harvested. Fine stallions were prized, and their sperm was valuable for sale to other breeders. His sperm was worthless. He was almost an old man, and the two sons he had sired four decades ago, with a woman who had long since left him, had grown up to become far-from-exceptional adults, cursed with his short stature and slight build.

With horses, they ejaculated into a tube that guided their gargantuan loads of sperm to a collection vessel waiting below. Miguel’s sperm had no value whatsoever, but still he felt her roll an oversize condom over his aged cock. He couldn’t help but feel a thrill at her touch despite the humiliating circumstances. It was biological, and his cock twitched at the feel of her hands.

Then, without warning or ceremony, Mistress Sofia turned on the testicle shakers.

“Madre de!”

Miguel checked himself before blaspheming, but it was close. The sensation was overwhelming. The current in his ass made him hard, and there was a feeling deep in his prostate, but they were nothing compared to the excitement now emanating from his balls.

With his thighs spread almost as wide as they could go, his balls were able to move freely, and move they did, shaking violently in lines an inch long from one extreme to the other, the shakers ensuring that they did not bump into each other.

It was not the travel that filled his groin with unparalleled lust though, but the change of direction, as each one reached the end of its short linear path. The rapid deceleration and reversal of travel was what sent shockwaves of pleasure through each one. Not that Miguel was able to analyse the experience so analytically. For him, his groin simply exploded with lust. On a scale of 0-10, his horniness instantly leapt to 50. He’d never experienced anything like it; never imagined anything like it.

He didn’t want to shoot his wad in front of the women, even though he knew that he was there to be milked. He wanted to show some restraint; to prove that he was the master of his own body. But the instant the shakers began, he knew that was a battle that he was going to lose, and in a very short period of time.

His sagging, aging balls in their near-black sack with its skin, almost seven decades old, moved at a rapid rate, each one thudding as it changed direction. Sofia had secured them tightly, so that there was no play in the shakers. Any looseness would allow the testicles to rattle, battering them into rapid destruction, rather than elevating their owner to irresistible ecstasy.

She’d had to drain a handful of males over the years, man and boy, when their dicks needed pulling into check. She even helped surrounding haciendas with their lustful males. It was not an activity that she spoke of, and the males on the receiving end, absolutely NEVER talked about the day that they were milked, their deep sense of shame ensuring their lifelong silence.

But none of that mattered to Miguel. The shakers had been vibrating for 25 seconds, when he felt himself cumming. One moment he was breathtakingly aroused, and the next he could feel his dick pumping and his hips thrusting. He was no more in control of his body than the horses he bred, his libido manipulated and triggered regardless of his wish for modesty, or his desire to prove to the watching women that he was more than a dumb male animal whose orgasms could be activated any time on a mere whim.

Mistress Sofia watched the old ranch-hand thrusting with a sense of satisfaction. His cream flowed into the condom; not flying free to land on the dusty ground, but oozing rapidly into the transparent latex teat like mud bubbling up from a geyser. The first time always produced the biggest load, but it was just the first of very many, and to him, each one would feel just as powerful, whether he squirted or not.

His cock was far from impressive. Just four and a half inches long, with its incongruously red helmet on the top, like the cap on a jaunty child’s toy. She grinned at the thought. It was certainly a toy Miguel loved to play with. She just wished he did not feel the need to constantly share it with the others.

As she stared at the old rancher’s cock, she wondered how he ever persuaded any young woman to accept such a tired old stick into her pussy. She could understand why the older ones, decades past their prime, might feel complimented that they still made him horny; that he could get it up for them. But why would young women in their prime want be ridden by such a blackened and dusty-looking tool?

No matter. It was not a question that would likely need answering after today. This remedy had a 100% success rate. She remembered the first time it had been used. When she was just 11 years old, she’d witnessed her 14-year-old brother Raul, staked out by her mother, much as Miguel was now staked out. He had begged and protested in humiliation, yet he blew his first wad in just 15 seconds, followed by many, many more, his adolescent loads left to dry into the dust, the milking frame deployed in exactly the same location as it was now.

He had committed no offences such as the ones that Miguel had.

“Sometimes you just need to catch them before they get out of control,” her mother said. “Drain them early, and it will give you years of good behaviour.”

And she was right. After his first milking, Raul was meek as a mouse. True, something of his spark was lost, but he never wasted a moment of his time chasing after girls or, according to her mother, touching himself.

Miguel was shocked at how quickly he had had cum, and despite the shame, his body wildly enjoyed the experience, even if his mind retreated from the public spectacle. He had no problem getting his dick out for a woman, but being forcibly milked in front of the Mistress and her daughters was a whole different kettle of fish.

With the orgasm past, he expected to feel some physical relief; a lowering of his arousal, and time to recover. But the anticipated respite never came. At no point did his lust diminish. The sensation in his balls was constant, and his cock continued riding high.

He was certain that she planned to force him to cum again; maybe even a few times. He supposed that she would milk him dry. How many times was that? Two, maybe three. In his youth, he had once jacked himself to five wet orgasms, although the last two were little more than cum oozes, rather than actual ejaculations.

He greatly doubted that he still had that much in him anymore, but he suspected she would not stop until he had no more to give.

“Not bad Miguel. Hopefully when your balls are drier than the dust beneath your feet, you will think to keep your dick in your pants. Although, I don’t suppose you will be much interested for a good long while.”

“How long Mistress?” he asked.

She pondered.

“At least a year. My brother lost all interest for three full years.”

“No Mistress, I meant how long will you keep milking me?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that Miguel. One of the girls will be out from time to time to give you water.”

She slung a white blanket over his back and put his well-worn hat back on his head, and drew the cord under his chin to stop it falling off.

“Don’t want you getting burned by the sun!” she explained flippantly. “I’ll see you later.”

With that, Sofia walked off to the house, followed by her entourage of daughters, leaving Miguel alone.

It felt strange for him, standing there alone, with his body at a fever pitch of excitement, the only sound the thudding vibration between his legs. After a while, he came again, then again a while later, and again, sometime after that. He couldn’t see his dick to know for sure if he was still ejaculating by his fifth orgasm, but he was not. His withered old nuts were dry by the third orgasm, but the shakers did not allow his body to stop trying.

By the tenth time, they might as well have been spitting up dust. He was sexually exhausted, his inner thighs trembling at the repeated orgasms. He tried to fight the arousal, but with his legs spread so wide, he had no strength, and his balls felt like mere ornaments dangling from him.

He felt the powerful muscular contractions in the base of his cock with every orgasm, and while his balls were the main source of pleasure, they did not feel like a part of his body that he had the slightest bit of control over. The vibrations caused the swelling, lustful feeling, but it was so powerful that he could not analyse precisely how, nor endeavour to control it.

The girls came out intermittently to give him water as promised. Miguel tried to talk to them, but each of them refused to engage with him.

“Momma told us not to talk to you.”

By midday, he was getting desperate. How much longer was this going to continue? He must have cum 20 times. 30 even. Surely that was enough?

By mid-afternoon, he decided to end it, no matter what the consequences to his employment. His balls were utterly depleted. He tried to free his head, but it was held tight. His hands had plenty of movement, but the cuffs were locked securely. If he could at least close his legs, he could maybe pull his balls free or kick the shaker away from him. He could feel the bars that spread his knees. They pressed into his flesh. He decided to step over one of them, and lifted his left leg to do so, but with his legs already forced so far apart, he couldn’t move the leg further, let alone lift it in the air. He struggled to do so for minute, leaning far to one side, twisting his body, and all the while the motors beneath continued shaking his testicles.

He unsuccessfully tried pulling his other leg free instead, before he realised that although his legs were not clamped in place, the awkwardness of their position meant that he was trapped just as effectively as if they had been manacled to the ground.

It was frustrating to feel that his legs were essentially free, yet they were not; trapped by their position and his lack of flexibility.

And all the time that he tried to free his legs, between them, the shakers continued vibrating his balls, keeping him at a fever pitch of arousal, his bone stiff as a dowel.

He stopped struggling, panting not at the effort, but the fact that his horniness was so distracting. He would have collapsed to the ground, but the leg bars kept him on his feet, while his upper body was held in place. Instead, he sagged against his restraints, utterly unable to resist the continuing stimulation.

Miguel lost all track of time, drifting in a fever dream of repeated orgasms and endless sexual arousal. He only gained some sense of time as the sun started to set. That meant it must be about 8:30. Was his trial ever going to end?

Sofia came out just before the last of the light faded and stood in front of him.

“Do you want some food?” she asked, showing him a chicken burrito she had brought.

“Mistress, please, I beg you, how much longer?”

“Till morning. Do you want food or not?”

“Then free me and I will leave the hacienda. I can’t take any more.”

“Do you think I’ve gone to all this effort only to quit half way?” she demanded.

He looked at her, standing assertively with her hands on her hips.

“No mistress,” he replied.

“Of course not. Now do you want this food or not?”

Miguel knew that it was pointless to argue or beg further. She had made up her mind.

“Yes please, mistress,” he said, his voice quiet, defeated.

It was his first food since breakfast. She fed it to him slowly. He ate, but it was incredibly distracting, eating at one end, while his balls were going crazy with lust at the other. Even as he nibbled cautiously at the minced meat, his dick strained, pointing towards Sofia.

Midway through, he stopped eating and screwed his eyes up tight, making a grunting noise as he came again. The waves washed over him for 45 seconds. When it was past, he continued eating, the excitement between his legs not easing for even a second.

When he had eaten what she offered, and drunk the glass of water, she said, “I’ll see you in the morning Miguel,” then she walked away without looking back, leaving the wiry old ranch hand on his own again.

The night was worse than the day. For starters, he’d already had over a hundred orgasms by the time darkness engulfed him, so his balls were utterly exhausted. But worse still, in the total blackness, there was literally nothing to distract him from the constant shaking of his nuts. The world closed in around him, leaving him floating in dark void, where the only certainties were the sound of the vibrating shakers, the rising and falling current in his asshole, his churning balls, and his straining dick. He moaned softly, exhausted from being on his feet for 10 hours, but far more exhausted from teetering on the brink of orgasm constantly for so long, only to be nudged regularly over the precipice.

His entire body shook from the exertion. He tried different strategies to cope; ignoring it, fighting it, going with it, even trying to meditate. It was hard enough to cope with the elevated baseline of arousal, but every time he was driven to orgasm, it brought his full focus back to his groin.

At first, it gave him empathy for the stallions he milked, but at least they had some measure of control, and their orgasms were a pleasurable release of pent-up arousal. For Miguel, he was more than a hundred orgasms past the point where he needed release.

He’d never stayed erect for so long, and there were few times in his life when his penis was so wickedly hard. If it had been in the romantic company of a young woman, he would have impressed her with his rigidity, especially at his age, but here in the darkness, there was nobody to impress, and he would have given almost anything for his straining erection to deflate, so that the muscles at its base could get some rest.

Throughout the night, Miguel, stood, dog-tired, but held up by the bars that spread his legs wide apart, and the bonds around his hands and neck. He drifted intermittently into a trance-like state from which he was reluctantly wrenched by each and every orgasm.

Eventually, the first smudges of light lit the horizon to the east. Miguel was too bone-weary to take too much hope from the light, especially as he was unsure when, or if Mistress Sophia planned to end his punishment that day. Between his legs, the shakers continued doing their job, vibrating implacably at their steady pace, never giving him a moment to recover. Her could feel his prostate pulsating in time with the current.

He came again, and again, and again; an inhuman number of times.

Sophia’s brother had been milked for 8 hours, and the effects changed him for years, but she wanted to be absolutely positive that Miguel would never, ever again harass the young women in her employ.

Her own husband was ten years dead, but even when he was alive, she was an equal partner running the ranch. Without him, rather than fading to fearful social paralysis, she had blossomed, becoming a powerful, assertive woman who had the respect of those around her. And as Miguel was discovering, she was not to be trifled with.

Eventually, at 10am, she came back outside with her daughters. She stood in front of him hands on hips.

“I expect you’re ready to end this?” she asked.

“Yes mistress,” he slurred, so weary that he could barely speak.

“And you will keep away from the female staff?”

“Yes mistress.”

“Good.”

She nodded to one of her daughters and the shakers turned off, then the electro-ejaculator.

She showed him a much larger ejaculator used for bulls. It was twice the diameter of an erect human penis.

“Because if you do not, I’ll be using this one next time, and I won’t be so gentle with you.”

It was an effort to keep his eyes open, but he looked at it with horror.

She walked to the side. His penis was still straining, and drooping from it like a water balloon, was the condom. It contained half a mug’s worth of semen. She knelt and carefully slid it from his cock, before returning to the front.

“Before I release you, I need you to do one final thing.”

She showed him the sagging spunk-filled condom.

“I need you to drink this.”

She was asserting her total dominance over him. Milking him like an animal was bad enough, but now forcing him to drink his own seed would tell him he was just a dumb animal, under her total control.

“No please,” he begged weakly.

“I can milk you for another day?” she offered.

An expression of utter defeat appeared on his face. She lifted the opening of the condom to his lips, and he slowly opened his mouth.

“Wider,” she said, and he reluctantly complied.

He allowed his own semen to pour into his mouth. She poured a little then stopped.

“Don’t want to waste a drop. Swallow.”

He closed his mouth and swallowed with the enthusiasm of a child eating his greens.

“Open.”

And so, she continued, feeding him his own spunk in small mouthfuls, forcing him to swallow it, one slimy mouthful at a time, until the condom was completely empty.

All the while, her daughters looked on, giggling and making comments, at his total subjugation.

“Miguel, if you act like an animal, I will treat you like one, do you understand?”

“Yes mistress,” he said, utterly conquered.

Sofia looked at his groin. His penis was now completely flaccid, shrivelled into an inconsequential scrap of flesh, shorter than the top two joints of a pinky finger, hiding behind its foreskin. His reddened scrotum was so tight that it was little more than a deeply grooved bump behind his penis.

She grinned at him.

“Your dick is even less impressive now Miguel. I don’t think you would even want a woman to see such a pathic slug, even if you can ever get it up again.”

He listened in drained silence.

Sofia turned to her daughters.

“Help him back to his bunk. I want him back to work tomorrow morning.”

Miguel would never speak of this day to anyone, but the emotional effects would last for the rest of his life…