S1 NNF Tyler EP 107

S1 NNF Tyler EP 107
The silence that followed over the next several hours made me wonder if I’d lost Alice to the farm.

Had she become one of them… the lowing women? What will happen to the baby now?

A numbing coldness, that had nothing to do with the temperature of the barn, settled over me, thick and suffocating. It was a blanket woven from straw, disinfectant, and despair at the loss of a friend. I stayed pressed against the bench, my cheekbone grinding against the hard, unforgiving surface, until my muscles locked up. A chill worked its way up my spine, making me shiver, but it had nothing to do with the temperature. I watched her. I just watched her, this ghost in the shape of a girl I knew.

Hours bled into one another. The only markers of time were the patrols, the sweep of a flashlight beam that was both a threat and the only light we ever got. Each time, the beam would catch on Alice’s still form, slide past, and then find me draped over the bench and move on. We were accounted for. Inventory correct.

Then came a different sound. The squeal of a cart’s wheels, metal on concrete, getting closer. The vitamin and hormone cart.

What hellish concoction would they now serve?

My stomach, which had been a cold, tight knot, gave a useless clench. The cart stopped a few stalls down. The routine was always the same each week. The clank of a gate bolt, a gruff command, the scrape of a metal bowl on the floor. Then the bolt slammed shut. Over and over, a percussive rhythm of containment.

The cart stopped at Alice’s stall. The bolt slide back without the fanfare of locking mechanisms being released.

Hmm. Her gate wasn’t locked.

Of course not. She had no chains either. She was a different kind of prisoner now.

A handler I didn’t recognize, a big man with a gut that strained the fabric of his shirt, swung her gate open. “Cocktail time,” he grunted. “Time to kneel like a good cow.”

Alice didn’t move. She remained on her side, facing the back wall.

“Hey. I said, "Kneel.” The handler’s voice was impatient. He stepped just inside her stall, the straw crunching under his heavy boots. He put the bowl of gray mush down on the floor, a little too hard. Some of it slopped over the side. “Eat it, or we’ll force-feed you. Makes no difference to me.”

He waited a beat. When she still didn’t respond, he made a disgusted sound in his throat. “Suit yourself.” He walked out of the pen. “Hey, Mike, get your ass over here. Got a cow that needs some coaxing.”

In no time at all, Mike’s head came into view. He entered Alice’s pen. “You ever force-feed before?”

“Naw, man. Only seen it done a couple of times.”

“Sit above her head. Hold her arms and keep her head steady,” said Mike. “She won’t fight ya.”

As instructed, the new handler sat, scooped Alice into his arms, and then settled her in his lap. Mike helped get her into position. Mike worked quickly, placing the feeding tube in place, and then grabbed a bottle full of liquid.

“You use this when they get the tube.” Mike attached the bottle and slowly pushed the food into the line. At least the assholes fed her, but what was in the concoction, I wasn’t sure. “But make sure you administer the right formula. It’s important, Tim.”

“How do you know?”

“The ones showing… as in pregnant, get the purple tops,” said Mike. “Nursing cows get the white tops, and all others get the back tops.”

I watched Mike and the new handler, Tim, work over Alice’s limp form. She didn’t even gag. Didn’t flinch. She just lay there, eyes open but unseeing, a doll in their hands. When they finished, they left her on her side, the empty bottle swinging from Mike’s hand.

“This one’s next on the list,” said Tim. “She’s a black top, right?”

“Yeah.” A smug-ass grin spread across Mike’s lips. “This one might give ya trouble.”

They approached. The bolt on my gate slid back with a familiar screech. I didn’t resist. What would be the point? I’d learned that lesson weeks ago. So when Tim and Mike repositioned me on the bench, rotating it to gain access to my breasts, I let them.

Hell, my tits had been dripping long enough to create a little milk puddle under the straw.

“Oh, so now you wanna be a good girl,” Mike hissed in my ear. “You know the drill. Open up.”

Since my hands remained cuffed, Mike put the bowl to my lips, feeding me the contents. Refusing it would end the same way… with me ingesting the contents, so I the nasty shit, keeping my facial expression neutral.

The taste was metallic, chalky, with an undertone of something sweet that made my teeth ache. I drained it in three swallows.

“Atta girl,” Tim said, and there was a glint in his eye that hadn’t been there before. “So, can we fuck this one? Heard she likes dick.”

I wanted to spout off, tell him to go fuck himself, but instead, I kept the anger inside, cataloging it for another day.

“She’s been cleared. And doesn’t just like cock… she loves having her holes all filled. Isn’t that right, you slutty cow” Mike winked like the asshole he was. “Now let’s get her milked.”

They adjusted the bench, raising it to a higher angle so my back was at a slope. My breasts, full and aching, hung through the cutouts, the nipples taut and distended. The cuffs were given more slack—just enough to let me shift my weight, but not enough to let me escape. Not that I had anywhere to go.

Tim wheeled over the milking machine. The suction cones were cold when he pressed them against my skin, fitting them over my nipples with a clinical precision. The machine hummed to life.

The first few tugs were sharp, almost painful. I gritted my teeth. But then something shifted. A warmth spread from my nipples, deep into the tissue of my breasts, and I felt the milk letdown. It was a release, a gush of liquid that flowed into the tubes, and with it came a wave of heat that traveled straight down to my core, making my pussy drip.

Shit. What was in the cocktail they feed me?

I gasped. My thighs tried to press together, but the bench’s restraints kept them spread. The suction continued, rhythmic and relentless, and with each pull, the warmth between my legs grew.

My clit throbbed. I could feel myself getting wetter, a slickness that had nothing to do with the milk that leaked around the suction cups.

“Look at that,” Tim said, his voice low. He was standing beside the bench, watching the machine work. “She’s responding.” Mike came up behind me. I felt his hands on my shoulders, then sliding down to cup my breasts through the cutouts, his fingers pressing against the edges of the suction cones.

“They always do, even when they don’t want… isn’t that right,” replied Mike. “The cocktail has hormones in it. Gets them ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“For this.” Mike’s hand moved from my breast to my hip, then slid between my legs. His fingers found my swollen, needy clit. He rubbed, slow and deliberate, and I moaned. I couldn’t help it.

The milking machine kept pulling, the suction steady, and the combination of sensations was overwhelming.

“Look how wet you are, slut.” Mike slid his fingers through the slick folds of my pussy, making me moan. “She’s ready. Take her mouth. She loves to suck cock.”

Tim unzipped his pants. I saw his cock, thick and hard, and my mouth went dry.

“You know what to do,” said Mike. “Suck him off.”

Tim positioned himself in front of the bench, his hips level with my face. I leaned forward as far as the restraints would allow and took him in my mouth. He tasted salt and sweat, and I worked my tongue along the shaft, bobbing my head as best I could from the confined angle.

He groaned, his hand tangling in my hair. Behind me, Mike slapped my ass several times, making the flesh sting. I felt the head of his cock press against my entrance, and then he pushed in. I was wet enough that it slid in easily, and I cried out around Tim’s cock.

Mike began to thrust, slow at first, then faster. Each punishing stroke hit deep inside me, and his hand found my clit again, rubbing in circles that matched the rhythm of his hips. Something cold pressed against the tight ring of my backdoor, and I stiffened.

“You can relax and let the plug slip in,” grunted Mike. “Or I can fuck that tight little hole with my cock.”

I forced myself to relax, and the plug slid into place. Seconds later, it began to vibrate, making my muscles contract.

“That’s it, milk my cock, slut,” grunted Mike as his thrusts sped up.

The milking machine kept going, the suction on my nipples pulling in time with his thrusts. I was caught between them, filled in every hole, and the pleasure was building, building, a pressure that had nowhere to go.

I sucked Tim harder, taking him deeper.

“Fuck yeah. Just like that,” Tim cursed, his grip on my hair tightening.

Mike’s hand on my clit sped up. The milk machine gave one last pull, and the letdown hit me again, a flood of warmth that coincided with Mike’s thumb pressing hard on my clit. I came, hard. It was like a dam breaking.

My whole body convulsed, my back arching against the bench, my thighs trembling. I screamed around Tim’s cock, and that was it for him—he came with a grunt, hot and salty down my throat.

I swallowed, still spasming, as Mike drove into me one last time and stilled, his own release flooding me from the inside. For a long moment, there was only the sound of the milking machine winding down, and our ragged breathing.

It was the hottest thing I’d experienced in a while. And I hated myself for liking it.