The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Milk Bar—Chapter 37

The cop-slave was awakened by Mr. Herrick’s squeezing his ass-cheeks hard. “Up boy. Time for you next assignment. Your handler’s here.” Greg rose to his feet and then sank to his knees, bowing his head to the man who’d fucked him. “Thank you Sir. I hope I pleased you,” lowering his head to Herrick’s feet. “Indeed you did boy, and I’m going to ask Delaney to make sure that no one milks you next Friday night because I want a week’s buildup of cum from your milkbag. Now get going,” he said, landing a hard swat on Greg’s butt. “Yes Sir. Thank you Sir,” the man-cow responded and rose to his feet. Burt was beside him and snapped a leash onto his collar. “Come on boy. I’ve got another customer for you,” he said as he led Greg off toward the cubicles that lined one wall of the Milk Bar. “God, they’re taking numbers to get their hands on you,” he muttered. Greg knew he wasn’t supposed to acknowledge that remark, but inside, he felt a glow of pride. He was good at this and, what’s more, he really liked it!

Burt was speaking quietly into Greg’s ear as he directed him across the room. “Your next customer is a Mr. Parr. I will be observing from outside the cube because we have reason to believe that he would make a good addition to the herd. But it’s not our practice to do intake and induction on customers. Still, if he seems suited and seems to want it, we’ll make arrangements. So don’t be surprised if I come back in the middle of your service.” “Yes Sir,” Greg answered, not certain what Burt was talking about.

Burt took Greg into a cubicle in which was seated a man about his own age: mid 30s. He was quite good looking: chiseled, pale Irish features with signs of what would have been a heavy beard if he’d let it grow. There was a sexy cleft in his chin and, when he smiled, as he nervously did when Burt led Greg into the cubicle, his narrow lips were bracketed by dimples that looked like parentheses, highlighting his white teeth. His face was sunburned and he had dark brown hair that had been closely cropped with just a bit of fringe standing up in front. His eyes were sparkling blue above a straight nose and beneath a broad forehead. At this moment, he was clothed, although his shirt was unbuttoned to the waist, betraying a strong, lightly furry chest and firm abs with a line of the same dark brown hair descending toward his crotch.

As Greg and Burt entered the cubicle he rose uncertainly, clasping his hands in front of him and then releasing them, as if unsure of how to behave. “Mr. Parr. This is your man-cow that you’ve purchased. Please notice that he’s wearing a no-milking ring, so we ask that you don’t try to drain him.” “Yes Sir,” Parr answered quietly. “Odd,” thought Greg. “Generally customers don’t call the handlers or anyone else ‘Sir’.” “Very good Sir. If there’s anything you need, just press the buzzer.” Parr was staring at Greg, his eyes wide. “Y-yes. Thank you. I will.” It seemed to Greg that he seemed quite distracted; unusual for a Milk Bar customer: they were usually very sure of themselves. Then he remembered Mr. Farrington, the married customer he’d had to top because he was so nervous his first time. Maybe that was Parr’s problem. Greg looked down at his hand and saw no wedding ring, though he realized that was no guarantee. “Oh well,” Greg thought. “I’ll just play it by ear.” “Sir? How can I please you?” he asked quietly. “Uh, uhhmmm. Let me think. I need to get undressed I guess.” He sounded so unsure that Greg thought it might be another occasion for him to take the top role, at least to begin with to help Mr. Parr get started. “You need to strip,” Greg stated, not too emphatically, lest he overstep, but firmly enough that it could have been a mere statement of fact or an order, depending on one’s point of view.

Mr. Parr said “Yes Sir,” and lowered his head as he pulled his shirt off his shoulders and out of his pants. Greg watched in pleasure as Parr’s muscles rippled beneath his taut tanned skin. A good specimen indeed. He obviously worked out, but Greg could tell that he was also accustomed to some physical labor, since his body wasn’t bulky but, rather, tight and wiry. “Why not ask?” Greg thought. He’s obviously not like Herrick, apt to punish him for being impertinent. “Sir?” Greg ventured. “Yes,” Parr looked up, startled, “Something wrong?” “No Sir,” Greg smiled. “I just wondered what you do for a living?” “I’m a landscape architect and gardener. Have my own business. I’ve done pretty well, actually. I guess I have a knack for it. And I like doing the outside work myself. Makes me feel good.” He smiled broadly, a bit more at ease as he talked about his work. “I hear you’re a cop.” “Yes Sir,” Greg smiled in return. “Actually, I’m a lieutenant on the force.” “Oh. I see. I’ve always been. interested. attracted to cops. Don’t know why.” “I understand,” Greg answered softly. “So have I.” Parr chuckled along with Greg.

Mr. Parr stood there a moment, his blue eyes shining into Greg’s. “Well, I guess, I’d better get naked or we won’t get anywhere will we?” “No Sir,” Greg answered, smiling. Parr toed off his shoes and unbuckled his belt. He unhooked the waistband of his trousers and pulled them off his well-muscled and furry legs, neatly folding them and placing them on the bench. Greg observed that his jockeys were already tenting out with evidence of a formidable tool hidden in the white fabric. His chest was indeed covered with a light covering of soft brown fur that swirled in a sweeping pattern around the shape of his pecs but left his nipples bare, with the fur stopping a quarter of an inch from the edge of the aureoles. Greg’s own endowment began to rise as he watched this handsome, masculine man finish stripping. He removed his socks and, lastly, pulled his shorts over his stiffening cock and dropped them on the bench. Greg sucked in his breath. Here was a man to match Greg’s own beauty. Or is beauty the right word. What do you say about a masculine, strong man who gives you that sudden feeling in the pit of your stomach? The feeling that makes you want to reach out to him and fold him against your body, feeling the warmth of his fur against your skin as you gaze into his eyes. What other word is there but beauty?

Greg stood mesmerized for a few moments. “Well,” Mr. Parr said. “Where do we start?” Greg recovered himself. “If I may ask, is this your first time here?” “Oh no,” Parr answered. “But I-I. I’ve been thinking lately and I suddenly feel unsure. I mean, I don’t know where to start now. Because I think it’s different now. because I’ve realized. I figured it out that. I’m babbling aren’t I?” “That’s alright,” Greg answered. “What do you want me to do for you?” “I-I..” he paused and lowered his head. Then he abruptly raised his eyes and looked into the depths of Greg’s. “I want you to handcuff me.” “Yes Sir. If that’s what you want.” “Yes. That’s what I want.” Greg went to the pegboard and took a pair of handcuffs. He walked behind Parr and pulled his hands behind his back, cuffing them. Parr then sank to his knees as Greg walked around to stand in front of him. Parr knelt there for a few moments and then leaned forward until Greg’s cock was rubbing across his short, velvet-like hair. Greg sucked in his breath at the unexpected sensation. He’d never had a buzz-cut head rubbing against his cock before; the feeling was quite extraordinary. Then Parr raised his head, letting Greg’s oozing dick trail down his face, leaving a trail of pre-cum as it moved toward his mouth. Just before he inhaled it, he said “Teach me! Make me a man-cow. Teach me!” and he dove on Greg’s hard phallus. Greg could hear the ring around his corona clicking against Parr’s teeth as he sucked on the rigid pole in his mouth. Within moments, Burt and Paul entered the cubicle. They took Parr under the arms, pulled him off Greg’s cock and hauled him to his feet. “Now Mr. Parr. You know what the ring means. Why are you sucking this man-cow when you know that’s off-limits?” “I want to learn. I want to serve. I need to serve. I need to be used. I need to be humiliated.” The last was just a whisper. It was obviously his first confession of his need. He sagged between the two handlers holding him up, his hands still cuffed behind his back.

Mr. Delaney entered the cubicle. “Do you know what you’re asking for Mr. Parr?” “Yes Sir,” Parr answered. “Are you sure? You’re asking us to condition you and train you to be a man-cow. You’re asking us to take you into our service. You’re asking to become a slave. Are you sure that’s what you want?” “Yes Sir,” Parr answered again, more quietly than before. “I want to be a slave. I want to serve.” Mr. Delaney just looked at him for a moment. “Look at me!” he ordered sharply. Parr raised his eyes and looked steadily into Mr. Delaney’s. “Very well,” Delaney said. “But there’s no turning back. Once we start the conditioning, you’re a slave. Do you understand that?” “Yes Sir. I understand. There’s no turning back. This is what I want!” The last was almost fierce now. Greg could see his determination. “OK. Burt, take him downstairs and get him started. Shave, enemas, mental induction and training. Tomorrow you can start on his physical training.” “Yes Sir,” Burt answered. “Thank you Sir,” Parr said. “And thank you,” he said to Greg. “By the way; my name’s Don. Short for Donovan.” “Sure thing,” Greg smiled. “Welcome to the herd.” “Thanks,” Don said and then Burt and Paul led him away for processing. As they walked out of the cubicle, Don held between them, Burt turned back to Greg. “Wait here. I think Mr. Farrington would like another session with you.” “Yes Sir,” Greg answered and assumed the “display” position, his hands clasped behind his back, his feet spread to shoulder width and his head bowed.

The Milk Bar—Chapter 38

In a few minutes, one of the handlers guided Mr. Farrington into the cubicle. “Here you are Mr. Farrington. The man-cow you requested. I know it’s a little earlier than you expected, but we had a change in plans. Enjoy!” Then he picked up Don’s discarded clothes and left. Greg could see with his peripheral vision that Mr. Farrington was still clothed. He seemed nervous as well, but it was different than the way Mr. Parr, Don, had acted. He was excited. “I’m glad I could get you,” he said excitedly. “You make me feel so good. Will you tie me to the cross and milk me please?” Greg looked up at him and smiled. “Certainly Sir. Would you like me to undress you Sir?” “Please. That would be nice,” Farrington answered. Greg walked behind him and pulled his suit jacket off his shoulders. It was nicely tailored and good material. Farrington, for all his timidity at his first time at the Milk Bar, wasn’t any slouch when it came to income. Greg wondered what he did for a living. “All these men,” he thought. “All looking for something that society tells them they shouldn’t want or have. So stupid! What’s the harm if a guy gets off on other men?” He folded Mr. Farrington’s jacket and placed it on the bench. Then he loosened his tie and slipped it over his head. He unbuttoned his shirt, allowing his knuckles to grave Farrington’s smooth chest, making him draw a deep breath. Greg was very careful to stand far enough away from his customer to keep his firm cock from touching his slacks. It wouldn’t do to leave a trail of his pre-cum on the front of his customer’s pants. How would he explain that to his wife? Greg moved behind him to pull off his shirt and then knelt in front of him on one knee. Mr. Farrington placed first one shoe, then the other on Greg’s raised leg, allowing the man-cow to untie his shoes and slip them and his socks off. Then Farrington braced himself by placing his hand on Greg’s head as the slave unfastened his pants and pulled them off him as he raised his right foot and then his left. Last came his boxers which were, by now, standing at attention, braced by his stiff cock whose purple head poked through the fly.

Greg pushed Mr. Farrington backwards until he was against the St. Andrew’s cross bolted to the wall. Greg took a pair of leather cuffs and wrapped them around Farrington’s wrists and buckled them. Yes, there was that wedding band on his left hand. Greg raised each arm and hooked the links on the cuffs to hooks screwed into the ends of the cross. He placed the palms of his hands on Mr. Farrington’s flat nipples, cupping his pecs with his fingers and leaned against him, kissing him hard and raping his mouth with his tongue. Greg considered himself 95% bottom, but something in Farrington’s demeanor brought out the top in him. His own cock was rubbing against his victim’s tented boxers, fencing with the enveloped dick. Farrington was breathing hard and squirming, trying to rub his cock against Greg’s body. Greg backed away. “Oh no,” he said. “It’s not going to be that easy tonight. By the time we’re finished, you’ll know you earned it.” And he grinned an evil grin. Farrington swallowed hard “Yes Sir,” he squeaked. Greg didn’t worry that his customer had called him “Sir” in this case: they were doing a scene. Greg knew that Mr. Farrington would go home to his family when they were finished, fulfilled, exhausted, exhilarated.

Greg reached out and slid the palm of his hand down Farrington’s belly fingers first, sliding it beneath the waistband of his shorts. When his fingers encountered Farrington’s soft bush, he rubbed his fingers around in the fur. Then he grabbed some hair between his thumbs and fingers and pulled and twisted it. Farrington cried out at the sudden assault, but his cock throbbed, pushing the point of the tent right to the top of his waistband. Greg felt its tip smear the back of his hand with stickiness. Greg grasped the pulsing, throbbing organ in his palm. “You’ll pay for that, my friend. You’ve messed up my hand.” Farrington was whimpering now, lost in his desire for humiliation. Greg pulled his hand out of Farrington’s shorts, milking pre-cum onto his hand as he released the rigid flesh. “Clean my hand. Lick it off. Now!” Greg held his slimy hand in front of Farrington’s mouth. Farrington dropped his jaw and whined as he stuck out his tongue and licked the saltiness off his tormentor’s fingers, sucking each of them in and licking it carefully, sucking on the fingers like a calf sucking a teat.

When Greg felt his fingers were clean, he grasped the waistband and pulled Farrington’s boxers down, catching his cock and pulling it toward the floor before the fabric finally released it and it slapped up against his belly. Now Greg took another pair of cuffs and cuffed his feet to the arms of the cross, spread-eagling him. Again, he moved into his man and, stroking his sides and letting his hands wander up to lightly pinch and twist his nipples, kissed him deeply. Farrington returned the kiss and moaned, feeling his tormentor’s hands on his body, tweaking his tits and stroking his cock, pulling on his balls, rubbing his flanks. Then, he was gone! Farrington opened his eyes and saw that Greg had gone back to the pegboard. What was he doing now? The man who was now topping him came back, carrying some objects he didn’t recognize.

Greg held up a hand pump with a tube attached to it. In his other hand, he held to small tubes with flared ends. “Your tits need work. Here at the Milk Bar, we expect men to have tits that you can see through his shirt, not these flat little nubs you have.” He leaned down and licked each of Farrington’s flat nipples before he bit them lightly. Farrington felt an electric charge shoot down his spine, making his knees jerk. Greg took a bottle of mineral oil and wiped it around the aureoles of Farrington’s nipples. After he’d coated the flared ends of the tubes with petroleum jelly, he attached them to the splitter that came out of the pump. This let him apply both tubes at once. Then he held one tube against Farrington’s right nipple and squeezed the handle of the pump. The tube sucked the nipple in and stuck to Farrington’s chest. Greg repeated the action with the left nipple. Once both tubes were attached, he began pumping in earnest. Farrington looked down, wide-eyed, as his virgin nipples were sucked into the tubes stuck to his chest. When they were distended a half inch into the tubes, Greg stopped pumping and released the ends of the splitter from the suction tubes. Farrington’s tits were deep purple and leaking fluid into the tubes that seemed determined to make these into man-tits rather than flat little boy titties.

Now that he had Farrington’s tits pumped, Greg was ready to go to work in earnest. He knelt and lifted his man’s cock with his hand. Farrington groaned when Greg touched his dick. Then Greg opened his mouth and placed it over the cock he held with his finger and thumb. He only surrounded it with the moist warmth of his mouth. He continued to hold it in his hand so that it didn’t rest against his tongue. He just breathed, blowing his warm breath over the sensitive, hot flesh. Farrington groaned again and tried to thrust into Greg’s mouth. Greg pulled his mouth away. “We can’t have that now, can we? Bad boy!” He went to the pegboard and retrieved a long leather strap. He doubled it and then slapped Farrington’s thighs; not hard, but hard enough to make an impression. Farrington cried out in surprise and mild pain. “I’m sorry Sir. I won’t do it again.” “You bet you won’t,” Greg answered, threading the strap behind the cross and wrapping it around Farrington’s waist. Then he tightened it and buckled it, pining his waist to the cross. “There. That’ll keep you from moving,” he said, slapping Farrington’s pink thighs exactly where he’d strapped them. He didn’t want to do too much to begin with. He didn’t want to scare Farrington off, nor would it have been wise to send him home with bruises or welts. Best to start him out slowly and let him find the pleasures of pain gradually. Then, as he looked at Farrington, pulling against his bonds, Greg had another idea. He took two more leather straps and wrapped them around Farrington’s pink thighs and buckled them tight, further binding him to the cross. Now the only parts of his body he could move were his chest and his head. “That’ll hold you,” he grinned and, once again, knelt down in front of his moaning victim.

Greg fingered Farrington’s loose-hanging balls, gently squeezing them in his hands. He grasped them in the cage of his fingers and pulled them down, causing a groan of pain to arise from Farrington’s gut as his testicles were stretched. Then Greg grabbed both balls in his fist, stretching them even farther as he closed his fingers from index to pinkie, and pulled down. Farrington was groaning hoarsely now, but his cock was leaking copiously onto Greg’s hand and arm as his body was abused. Holding the pearlescent orbs a hand’s width from their preferred position, Greg stretched out his tongue and licked them, pushing the hairs covering them first in one direction and then the other. Then he sucked them both into his mouth and held onto them with his teeth while he laved them with his tongue and spit. He heard Farrington rattling the links on the cuffs that held his wrists suspended above his head; he was trying to get loose so that he could bring on the complete stimulation that his man-cow was dishing out to him in small but highly arousing doses. He wanted it now! But Greg wasn’t about to give it to him now. He would make him wait, strung along until he was on the verge of madness from prolonged arousal and denied climax. For this was the Milk Bar’s stock and trade.

Farrington’s cock was throbbing stiffly above the man-cow’s face as he tugged at his balls, splattering drops of clear pre-cum over Greg’s face. Finally, Greg released his balls from his teeth and licked the slime from his lips. He ran his sticky tongue up the insides of Farrington’s thighs, slicking down the fine hairs growing sparsely there. Then he flicked his balls with the tip of his agile tongue, sending shivers down his victim’s spine. Greg sucked Farrington’s balls into his mouth and played pocket pool with them, shooting them from one cheek to the other. Farrington’s legs buckled and, once again, he rattled the chains linking his cuffs to the cross in sheer ecstasy. Then, as he was moaning and crying, begging for relief, Greg released his balls and pulled his cock down, enveloping it with his lips. Farrington threw his head back and began to gasp. “Ahhhhh, aahhhh, ahhhh. Oh, oh, oh, please, p-p-p-please. Take me. Oh, no more. I can’t stand it.” Still holding the head of Farrington’s cock in his lips, Greg placed his fingers on Farrington’s thigh and felt a strong, even, if rapid pulse. He knew Farrington could take more, and he was going to give it to him.

Greg sucked the throbbing column of hot flesh down his throat and sang around it. Then, just as he felt it begin to spasm, he pulled off it and bit on the head. Not hard, but hard enough to startle Farrington and throw another, contradicting yet arousing stimulus at his brain. Greg knew that pain was a powerful stimulant, given at the right time. He also knew that it distracted a man from his arousal, given at the right time. Farrington’s cock stopped its spasms, but still remained hard. Greg swallowed it again and then backed off slowly, biting along its length as he went. So riveted was Farrington’s brain on his cock that the bites were like blows of a whip on his back. He cried out each time that Greg’s teeth marked his flesh. “Aaahhh, aaahhh, aaahhh, uunnhhhh, oohhh, aaahhh.” When Greg reached the head of his man’s cock, he knawed at the plum of meat. Then he nibbled at the lips of Farrington’s piss-slit and teased it with the tip of his tongue. He gripped the spongy head between his teeth, closed his lips around it and sucked pre-cum out of Farrington’s cock like he was drinking milk through a straw. Farrington had never experienced that feeling in his life. It was as though his prostate was being pulled down his urethra and out the end of his penis. “Oh, oh, oh, oh God,” he cried, rolling his head and thrashing against his bonds.

Greg only looked up at his captive and smiled. As he sucked, he slid a finger into Farrington’s pulsing anus, pushing him even higher toward the peak. He took his other hand and pressed another finger in and pulled the pucker wider. Farrington was attempting to fuck himself on the fingers invading his asshole and was almost succeeding, pushing upward and falling back down as much as the straps holding him would allow. Then Greg pulled his fingers out. Because Farrington was a customer rather than a man-cow, and inexperienced at that, he’d not cleaned himself before he arrived at the Milk Bar. So there was a slight coating of musky shit on Greg’s fingers. He held them to his nostrils and inhaled deeply, filling his brain with the aroma. Then he stood and glared into Farrington’s fear-filled eyes. “Why didn’t you clean yourself? What did you expect? That you’d be spared from being fucked?” Farrington shook his head. “No Sir. I’m sorry Sir.” Greg pulled the suction tubes off Farrington’s distended tits with a plop. Then he grasped Farrington’s swollen nipples with his stained fingers, rubbing the brown color and odor into them while Farrington groaned and rolled his head. “You’re sorry alright. A sorry excuse for a man. Lick my fingers off!” “No sir. Please Sir, don’t make me. Please” “I said lick them off!” Greg yelled and, grabbing Farrington’s jaw with one hand, pulled it open. He thrust one dirty finger into Farrington’s waiting mouth and rubbed it across his flailing tongue. Farrington gagged and tried to cry out and then, suddenly, closed his lips around the finger fucking his face. He sucked on in greedily, as though it were a pacifier, running his tongue over it and sucking the bitter, earthy flavor off of it. Greg let go of his face and rubbed the other brown finger around his lips, painting them with the taste. Farrington’s tongue followed Greg’s finger and then he went after the finger, pulling it into his mouth where he nursed it as he had the other, whimpering as he pulled it into his hungry mouth.

When Greg was satisfied that his fingers were clean, he took a butt-plug from the cabinet and held it up to Farrington’s mouth. “You’re going to lube this with your own spit before I plug you. Then we’ll see about letting you come.” Greg gave him a wicked grin and Farrington pulled away from the cross to which he was bound, reaching for his release. Once again, Greg pulled Farrington’s mouth open with his hand. Farrington tried to resist, so Greg pinched his nostrils shut, forcing him to finally open his mouth as he gasped for breath. But rather than air, he got a rubber butt-plug filling his open mouth. “Good boy,” Greg grinned. “Get it good and wet because that’s all there’ll be easing its way into your pussy.” Farrington laved the object with his tongue with enthusiasm, slathering it with his saliva. Then Greg pulled it out of his mouth with a pop, pulled his balls out of the way and placed the plug at the entrance to his chute before pushing it in. He’d selected a small plug because he knew Farrington’s hole hadn’t been stretched and wasn’t accustomed to taking anything at all. Farrington gave a sharp gasp at the intrusion and, after a few moments hesitation, Greg pushed it home as Farrington’s sphincter closed around the tapered end, lodging it in place. Greg placed the fingers of his hand into Farrington’s gaping mouth, pushing them in until they encountered Farrington’s soft palate, making him gag. He rotated his hand, stroking Farrington’s tongue, which struggled to lick the fingers. “Good-pussy boy. Good boy. You’re my pussy-boy aren’t you?” Greg asked him. Farrington, his mouth full of Greg’s hand, nodded his head as best he could and voiced his assent in unintelligible grunts.

Greg stepped back and surveyed his victim. Farringon’s cock was flat against his smooth belly, dripping pre-cum like a leaky faucet. His chest was thrust forward as far as he could extend it, his now-plump nipples seeking more stimulation and torture. His mouth was agape, waiting for something, anything to be thrust into it and his butt twitched around the plug that invaded it and gave it its sense of belonging and neediness for the first time in its life. His fingers and toes curled as impulses sped through his nervous system that he’d never known existed. Here was a man whose entire body was a sexual organ waiting to be tweaked and used. Greg decided that he’d give him one more experience before granting him the release he so needed. He’d been working on him for an hour now and, as an amateur and customer, he deserved his climax. Greg stepped to the wall and grabbed a small cat. This was just the thing; not too painful and would leave no long-lasting welts, so that, by morning, the marks would have disappeared. After all, since Mr. Farrington was a married man, there was no point in blowing his cover. That would only drive him away from the Milk Bar and leave them with an unhappy customer. Greg grinned to himself as he thought this through and looked again at the starving man who’d submitted himself to Greg for his own abasement: a vision of sexual need.

Greg took the cat and began swirling it through the air in a circular motion, closing in on Farrington’s distended nipples. Farrington grunted when the leather tails made contact and began moaning even more as the whipping continued. Greg wasn’t hitting him hard; just a continuous thrashing of his most sensitive areas. He whipped first one tit and then the other. Then he moved down Farrington’s abdomen, whipping as he went, until he reached the swollen head of Farrington’s cock. It was dark purple and glistening from its coating of pre-cum. When the cat hit it, he jumped and then pushed his hips forward, seeking greater punishment for his raging cock. He wanted more! Maybe one day, but not right now. Before they engaged in a major scene, he’d want to make sure that Farrington was fully aware of the marks that might be left on his body and how long it would take them to fade. So Greg moved the cat down Farrington’s stiff rod and then worked over his heavy balls. Finally, he felt that it was time.

Greg dropped the cat and turned his back on his victim, then, bending over, he backed up carefully, taking Farrington’s dick when he was close enough and pulled it down to place it in his own rosebud. When he felt it begin to enter his anus, he pushed down with his muscles and leaned back, fucking himself with one smooth movement. When he felt Farrington’s bush against his butt, he squeezed his sphincter and pulled the cock in even further. Farrington gasped and tried to thrust against the bonds pinning him to the cross. Greg began his work, fucking himself, squeezing and rippling the flesh embedded in his gut. He pushed and pulled, leaning forward and back, taking Farrington higher and higher. Farrington was breathing hard and fast now as Greg rode his pole. He jerked against the bonds, pulling at the cross and making Greg concerned that he might pull it loose from the wall. Then he began to jerk uncontrollably. “Aaahhh, aaaahhh, aaahhh, uuuunnnhhh, uuuuunnnnnhhh, aaaaaaaahhhhh, fuuuuuuck,” he screamed and shot his load into Greg’s ass. Greg pulled on the cock in his chute, milking it and squeezing it, eking out the last drops of cum and keeping the orgasm going as long as he could. Finally, Farrington collapsed with a shout and hung from the cross, completely spent.

Greg just stood there for a while, bent at the waist, Farrington’s now softening cock still lodged in his ass. When Farrington’s breathing had slowed to a near normal rate, Greg leaned forward and gently pulled himself off Farrington’s dick. He had cum running down his legs, but his first responsibility was to his client. He unbuckled this cuffs holding his ankles and then the straps around his legs and trunk. He pulled the butt-plug out of his ass and tossed it in the sink. Then he unbuckled the cuffs suspending his wrists and held him gently in his arms as Farrington collapsed in exhaustion and exhilaration. “Oh God,” he whispered. “God, I’ve never had anything like that. Thank you. Thank you.” “My pleasure Sir,” Greg responded and half-carried Farrington to the nearby shower stall. He lowered him to the seat that was placed in the shower and turned on the water, adjusting it to the proper temperature before letting it run over Farrington’s trembling body. Greg washed him, making sure to clean his nipples so that no trace of the smell of his own anus would be left. Farrington just sat there, permitting Greg to move his body around as he chose, washing his arms and legs, his armpits and crotch, even his hair. The tenderness with which this man-cow was ministering to his needs served to re-emphasize for him the tenderness that was part of the domination to which he’d subjected himself. He realized that most people wouldn’t have understood this, but he didn’t care; it made complete emotional sense to him at that quiet moment.

Greg finished bathing him, turned off the water and wrapped him in a large towel, drying his tortured body. Farrington would remember this night for the rest of his life. It was his second birth night; the night he’d found himself.

The Milk Bar—Chapter 39

Greg dressed Mr. Farrington again in his well-tailored suit, returning him to the persona of the successful business-man in which he cloaked himself during his daytime hours. Then he guided him to a table and got him the drink he requested. He talked with Farrington a little about what they might do in future encounters and explained some of the ins and outs of SM so that he’d be aware and be able to make the necessary arrangements for time to recover from a major scene. When he was satisfied the Farrington was comfortable, he bowed slightly and went to look for Burt. He knew that Farrington would be back and soon.

Greg found Burt near the stairs. “Sir? I’ve finished with Mr. Farrington. Is there another client I can please?” Greg asked Burt, lowering his head as was expected of a man-cow. “Barber! There you are. I guess you gave Mr. Farrington a good run for his money. You had him quite a while!” Burt beamed. “Yes Sir. I think I gave him what he wanted.” “You can say that again! He’s a good client, and I mean a good client. So it’s good that you’ve pleased him. I just wish we had more like you in the herd. Anyway, I’d say you’ve earned you keep for tonight. We’re closed tomorrow because it’s a three-day weekend and folks will be going away. So why don’t you clean up and go home. You’d probably enjoy a night at home with your man.” Greg detected an odd note in Burt’s voice, but he couldn’t figure out what it was so he let it pass. He said “Yes Sir. Thank you Sir. I would enjoy that,” and went through the door and down the stairs. He headed for the shower room to clean up before he went home to Jim.

As he passed by the Mind Training room, he heard a voice. He looked in and saw Don Parr. He was shackled to a post, his chest and crotch shaved and pump tubes attached to his nipples. He was staring into a monitor, his eyes wide and blank as he mumbled “I am a man-cow. I am here to serve. I will serve my Masters. I am here to be used. I am a man-cow.” Greg shook his head. He wondered how it was that a man could realize that this was what he wanted without having to be forced to the conclusion as he himself had been. He guessed that Don Parr would be a good man-cow because he already knew that this was what he needed.

Greg was going to shower and give himself an enema to clean out the spunk that filled his ass chute. But he was so anxious to get home that he skipped that. He sat on the rimless toilet bowl and shat out the slime. By this time, others of the herd were coming downstairs to get cleaned up and leave. The tempo at the Milk Bar was slowing down, the evening being far gone by now. Greg wiped his ass. Then he dressed and went out to get his car and drive uptown to the apartment he shared with Jim Downing, his Master and his lover.