The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Milk Bar—Chapter 60

Jim Downing awoke in the dark stillness of the early morning and reached out. His hand touched the cool sheet and his eyes flew open. He raised himself and looked down at the empty bed. “Greg?” he called out quietly. “Greg?” more loudly and urgently. Where was Greg? After having fucked his lover so hard they’d both seen stars, Jim had left him at the Milk Bar with the promise that he’d be home after he finished up. Jim glanced at the clock and saw that it was 3:35. Way past time when Greg should have been home. The Milk Bar closed at 1:00 on Saturdays and cleanup wouldn’t have taken more than a hour. Half an hour uptown by train and he should have been home by 2:30, latest. Jim listened for several moments to see if he could hear sounds that would assure him that his boy was home. Nothing; only the quiet rushing of the light traffic on the streets far below and the occasional car horn. Jim got up and walked across to the door and out into the apartment. Completely dark. Maybe? He went into the spare bedroom just to be sure that Greg hadn’t opted to sleep there and not disturb him, though he didn’t know why he’d do that. No—not there either. Where was he?

Jim felt the rising of dread and panic in the back of his mind and fought it off. There was no reason to worry. Maybe he’d gone out with Thompson and Clark? Maybe that was it! They were friends, co-workers after all. Maybe they’d stopped for something to eat. Jim picked up the phone and dialed information. Did he have Mr. Thompson’s address? No, why would he? Well then they couldn’t help him. He put down the phone impatiently, his hand starting to have just the slightest shake. What to do? Then it hit him! He dialed the precinct desk in Greg’s station and asked the officer on-duty for Lt. Thompson’s phone number and address. “Thanks,” he said. “Thanks a lot,” and quickly disconnected, re-connected and dialed. The phone rang four times. “Hello?” said a tired Lt. Thompson. “Lt. Thompson,” Jim said, “Jim Downing here. Did Greg go out with you guys after work tonight?” There was a pause on the other end. “No,” Blake said slowly. “We were tired and just wanted to come home. So he headed off to the train.” “And what time would that have been?” Jim asked, trying to fight down the sick feeling coming up from his belly. “Would’ve been around a quarter past 2:00,” Blake said. “Why? What’s wrong?” “He’s not home,” Jim said and swallowed hard. “But don’t worry about it. I’m sure there’s a good explanation. Sorry to wake you.” “It’s OK,” Blake answered. “Call me!” “I will, and thanks” Jim said and hung up. He sat down on the couch, frowning. What could have happened? Where could he be?

Jim called the Greg’s station house again and asked the duty officer if there’d been any reports of problems down around the docks or on any of the uptown trains? No, nothing at all. Very quiet night, thank God. Jim thanked him and sank back on the couch. He was getting scared and trying to keep his runaway thoughts from going completely out of control. “Slow down,” he whispered. “Just slow down and think. What might have happened?” Suddenly, he sat bolt upright on the sofa “Burt!” he nearly shouted. Delaney had fired Burt Friday night and Burt definitely had a thing for Greg. Maybe he. Jim went to get his phone book and picked up the phone again, dialing Delaney’s number.

The Milk Bar—Chapter 61

Half an hour later, Jim was in his car speeding down the West Side heading for the Village. He had no idea what he was going to do but he was certain he’d find Greg with Burt. He’d figure out his strategy when he sized up the situation. He pulled off the highway and threaded his way along the old, strangely laid out streets until he reached the street Burt lived on. Figuring he might want to be covert, he drove along and, looking up, saw that lights were on in Burt’s apartment, or at least he thought it was probably Burt’s apartment. Who else would be up at a quarter past four in the morning? He pulled around the corner, turned off the engine, quietly stepped from his car and softly closed the door. At this hour of the morning there was very little of the even small amounts of noise there were farther up-town and he didn’t want to arouse attention. Jim walked quickly but quietly back toward Burt’s building.

As he looked up to the third story, he saw that the corner apartment offered a fire escape tucked back into the alleyway, shrouded in darkness. “Perfect,” he thought and, finding a wooden palette leaning conveniently against the wall under the bottom ladder, climbed up and, without much difficulty or noise, pulled himself up onto the fire escape. He crept up the stairs in the darkness until he reached the third floor window through which light was streaming. There were voiles over the windows, permitting light to come through and permitting anyone outside the room to peer in without easily being seen. And piercing the fire escape was a large air duct that created a very dark corner completely hidden from view from inside. He took note of it, just in case. Then, hugging the wall, he edged up to the window, craned his neck and looked into the room.

His attention was immediately drawn to an airline ticket folder lying on the table near the window. At first, he thought it said “GAY”, then realized that it in fact said “CAY”. The Grand Caymans? That had to be it. And it looked like there were two tickets. He couldn’t make out the date but imagined the trip wasn’t planned for anytime in the too distant future. He raised his eyes and moved his focus farther into the room and his heart stopped. It was Greg!

He was kneeling on the floor, completely stripped, a collar around his neck, hands clasped behind his back, facing the window. His face was blank. Nothing, no emotion. His mouth hung open, waiting. Jim’s blood went cold as he recalled Greg’s outburst of fear several nights back, telling Jim about Ted and how he’d been essentially erased as a person. Would Burt have done that to Greg? Jim felt the hair on the back of his head standing up and a sick feeling welled up in his stomach. He’d kill him if he’d done that to his boy, his lover. Burt was standing directly in front of Greg, also nude. He eased his large, erect cock into Greg’s open mouth and the man-cow went to work on it. Burt took Greg’s head between his hands and fucked his face, easing in and out of his mouth, moaning, his eyes closed and breathing deeply. “Good boy,” he kept repeating. “That’s my good boy.”

Greg was oblivious to everything but his Master and his service to the cock spearing his throat. His Master and teacher was using him and that’s all that mattered to him. He sang around Burt’s cock, vibrating it and massaging it with the muscles of his throat. He caressed it with his tongue and teased the sensitive ridge of skin that ran along the underside of his Master’s dick. Master reached down and grabbed his slave tits and pulled, making him rise slightly and moan as he tightened his throat and worked the flesh filling it even harder. His Master’s moans and thrusts told him he was pleasing his Master. The spasmodic throbbing told him that his Master was getting close to coming. Then, maybe his Master would fuck him. He loved being fucked. He loved having his man-cow ass filled by his Master; having his love-button massaged by an impaling cock as he milked it with his ass chute. He was a man-cow; this was his purpose in life. Master clutched his head harder and began to pump hard and fast, grunting and moaning. The man-cow increased his efforts and was soon rewarded as Master shouted and shot rich cream down his throat. He slurped and swallowed it with relish, this being one of his two joys in life. And if Master was pleased, maybe he’d reward him with the other.

Sure enough, as Greg milked the cock in his throat, he felt the blood filling it again and it lengthened and got stiffer. Greg whimpered around it, wanting more than he could say, and knew better than to say, to have it in his slave pussy. And Master wanted it to. “Now boy,” he said, “let’s find out how well you’ve been keeping up your skills with your cunt.” Burt pulled out of Greg’s mouth, turned him around and pushed him down on all fours. He knelt and inserted one finger, then two, then three into the man-cow’s well-trained and talented asshole. As he felt it relax and draw his fingers in, he withdrew his hand and placed the large head of his dick at the puckered entrance and pushed. Greg almost shouted with pleasure as his sphincters opened then closed around the cock that invaded him. As it moved inexorably forward, the man-cow massaged it, rippling his muscles and squeezing it in the warmth of his innards. Burt threw his head back and groaned. “Oh my god, what a fuck! God, you’re the best. Oh my god!” And he began to pound into Greg’s ass, his heavy balls rocking forward with each thrust, bouncing off of Greg’s pendulous milk bag. Faster and faster, harder and harder. Burt thrust, grunted, moaned, panted and sweated, coming closer and closer to the edge. He slapped the slave’s ass cheeks, each blow causing him to clench his muscles even more. Then, with a shout, he came, shooting a jet into Greg’s belly that felt to Greg like it might come out his mouth, especially since he was breathing hard himself.

Jim was breathing hard too, his nails digging into the palms of his hands as he watched his lover being used. Now he understood: Burt must have waited for Greg after he left the Milk Bar and used a post-hypnotic code word to snare him. What could he do? There had to be something. As Burt came with a howl, Jim staggered back in horror and grief, realizing that he was in danger of losing Greg for good if he didn’t do something. As he stepped back, he felt something behind him giving way and wheeled to see a flower pot tumbling off the edge of the fire escape and drifting, almost in slow motion, to the street below. He heard the crash and at almost the same instant, heard Burt give a startled cry. “Wha? What was that?” In a panic, Jim looked around and saw the air duct. It was his only cover. He took the four steps between him and the duct and disappeared into the concealing shadow just as Burt threw the window open and stuck his head out. “What’s going on? Who’s there?” he whispered hoarsely, obviously not wishing to rouse any neighbors any more than Jim did. Luck was with Jim Downing that night because a cat trotted up the stairs and onto the fire escape meowing softly. “Damn cat,” he heard Burt exclaim. “Whatca doin out there. Be quiet can’t you?” A couple of seconds later, Jim heard Burt speaking, but now from within the apartment. Cautiously, he edged out of the shadows and closer to the window to try and make out what he was saying. “OK boy, we need to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow and I need to pack. We’ll get you some clothes when we get down there. Obviously, we’re not going to go knocking on Jim Downing’s door to ask for some traveling clothes for you, right?” “No Sir,” Greg answered. “C’mon boy. Bedtime. We can get a few hours in before we have to get up. You can sleep with me.” “Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.” His responses told Jim nothing about the condition of his mind; he was responding as any good man-cow would. There could be the barest rudiments of his memory left and he’d still respond that way. Jim clutched his somersaulting stomach, tears of fear stinging his eyes.

Jim’s mind was racing. What should he do? He had to stop them, but how? His lover was basically being kidnapped but he couldn’t go to the police without exposing the entire Milk Bar operation. Whatever the answer was, he knew he couldn’t stay there all night. He needed to think and plan and this damned fire escape wasn’t the place to do it. Soon it would be light and people would be stirring. He would be spotted and reported and by the time it was straightened out, Greg would be out of his reach. Ever so quietly, he crept back down the stairs, dropped to the alley and hurried back to his car. As he was heading back uptown, a plan began to gel in his mind.

The Milk Bar—Chapter 62

When he got back to his apartment, Jim went online to check departure times for the Caymans. 11:55 from Newark. That gave him time to get a little sleep and get to the airport. He set the alarm for 8:00 and lay down with his clothes on. He’d be rumpled but who the hell cared? He was more concerned with saving Greg.

He tossed and turned, strange thoughts flitting through his mind. Then when he finally drifted off, he was haunted by nightmares in which Greg was falling and he couldn’t reach him to save him. As he fell, there was a loud buzzing noise covering Greg’s scream and Jim, screaming out his name, sat bolt upright, his heart racing and sweat pouring off his body. The alarm clock was making the noise and, his heart pounding in his ears, he reached over to turn it off. It was 10:30: he’d slept through the alarm. He had to hurry to make it in time.

By 10:35, he was in the car, heading toward the tunnel. He had Greg’s badge, his handcuffs and his automatic weapon. The badge would get him through security, the gun would do the rest. He swore, if Burt had permanently erased Greg’s memories, he’d kill him then and there. That he’d go to prison for the rest of his life didn’t matter; without Greg, he had no life anyway. Maybe he’d also shoot Greg and then take his own life too. Maybe that was the answer. He smiled to himself, in spite of the desperate, dangerous nature of his mission. Such a short time ago he’d arranged to have Greg lured into the Milk Bar and inducted into the herd. Then he’d seduced him and mastered him and, wonder of wonders, they’d fallen in love: real, honest love. For he knew that, sure as the sun rose in the sky, Greg truly loved him and he loved Greg—his Barb. And he’d gladly die for Greg, for without him, he had no reason to live.

Memories of their times together played through his mind as Jim drove through the tunnel, onto the turnpike and into the airport. Memories of his training his boy and taking him as his slave and lover. The wonderful times he’d fucked him and Greg had given him everything with joy and enthusiasm. The times he’d beaten him to teach him the heights he could climb using pain as a ladder. Jim pulled into the parking garage, turned off the engine and took several deep breaths to compose himself. He’d been delayed at the tunnel and it was already a quarter past 11:00. He had to move fast. He fingered the automatic and felt the comfort of its weight. Then, taking another deep breath, he opened the door and climbed out of the car.

Inside, he located the departure gate on the monitors and moved quickly toward security. He approached the man who appeared to be the officer in charge and flashed Greg’s shield. “I’m after a fugitive felon officer, but I don’t want people to be alarmed. I just want to keep this quiet so please let me go through.” The security officer looked at him uncertainly. “I’ve got to hurry or he’s going to get out of the country. Let me pass!” Jim whispered urgently. “OK,” the officer said and waved him around the metal detectors. Jim hurried down the concourse, counting off the gates, trying not to panic or to raise anyone’s attention. There it was, finally! And there they were, standing in line waiting to board. Burt stood nervously, glancing around now and then. Greg was impassive, moving where Burt positioned him.

Pulling the gun from its holster, putting it into his jacket pocket Jim moved up behind Burt. “If you move, I’ll put a bullet through your heart,” he said, pressing the barrel into Burt’s back. Burt froze. “Now come over here,” he ordered, giving him a direction with the gun, “and bring him with you.” “Come boy,” Burt said and moved to an alcove with Jim close enough behind him to fuck him (or shoot him). In the alcove, Jim ordered Burt to make Greg look at him. When Greg looked at him, there was a blankness in his eyes that made Jim shake with fear. “What have you done to him?” he demanded hoarsely. “Have you erased his memory? Did you make him a zombie?” “N-n-no sir,” Burt stammered. “He’s OK. He’s just under. I didn’t wipe out his memory. I just wanted to get him away from here. I wanted him for my own.” Jim paused for a moment, breathing deeply and considering what he’d just heard. Greg was still in there, thank God. “Release him,” he ordered. “Release him or I’ll kill you. I swear it!” he said, pressing the gun even harder into Burt’s back.

Burt went rigid and then sagged, defeated. “Yes sir,” he sighed. He looked at Greg. “On the count of three, you’ll be fully awake and alert. One, two three.” Greg blinked his eyes and worked to focus. “Jim!” he exclaimed, “Burt, what are you doing here? Where are we?” “Quiet baby,” Jim said. “I’ll explain later. Go sit down over there and I’ll be right over.” Greg hesitated for a split second and Jim snapped “Now boy!” “Yes Sir,” Greg answered and walked to the waiting area where he sat down. “Now what am I going to do with you?” Jim asked Burt, turning him around. “You’ve kidnapped a police officer and were seeking to take him out of the country against his will. Shall I have you arrested?” “Please sir,” Burt whispered, “I’m sorry. I lost my head. Ever since I set eyes on him, I wanted him. But he fell for you. It almost killed me. And then I saw my chance and hatched this plan. I’m sorry. Please understand,” he begged, almost crying. Jim looked at him, examining his face and trying to see into his mind. “Yes, I understand,” he said slowly. “I understand very well. But that’s no excuse. You betrayed your employer, you kidnapped my boy and sought to flee. On the other hand, if I turn you in, there’ll be a hell of a lot of explaining to do and some very embarrassed or disgraced people, not to mention the closing of the Milk Bar. So I’m going to let you go. But you’re going to get on that plane and leave the country. I don’t ever want to see you again, do you understand?” “Yes Sir,” Burt breathed. “Thank you Sir.”

Jim and Greg sat in the waiting area until Burt boarded the plane for the Grand Caymans and the plane pushed back from the jetway. Greg had tried to press Jim for answers but Jim didn’t want to talk about it there and ordered him to be silent. Greg obeyed his Master but it was apparent that he was distracted and nervous, having absolutely no idea why he should wake to find himself at the airport with Jim holding Burt at gunpoint with his own weapon and forcing him onto a plane.

As they moved back down the concourse, Jim suddenly turned, gathered Greg into his arms, and began to sob, crushing Greg to his chest. Greg was dumbfounded and could only hold his lover and his Master until his sobbing subsided. He was completely at a loss to explain any of this and had no information because he’d been forbidden to ask by his Master. So he held him and comforted him, shushing him and stroking his head until Jim regained his composure. Jim dried his eyes and splashed some water on his face from a nearby drinking fountain. “C’mon Barb, Let’s go home,” he said. Then they started back down the concourse toward the parking garage, their arms around each other’s waists, Jim holding Greg very tightly. As they neared security however, Jim said “I need to cuff you. I used your badge to get through security and told them I was apprehending a fugitive. We can’t very well come back through arm in arm. They might ask questions.” “Yes Sir,” Greg said, somewhat amazed. “I’m not sure about you anymore Jim. You impersonate an officer, me in fact, and hold up a guy at gunpoint. What’s going on here?” he grinned. “All in a days work,” Jim smiled back, ratcheting the cuffs around Greg’s wrists and draping them with Greg’s jacket. That would maintain the appearance that would be consistent with his story that he was apprehending a fleeing felon that he’d given to the security officer.

The Milk Bar—Chapter 63

Greg drove them back to the city: Jim just wasn’t up to it. The entire trip, he lay on the seat, his head on Greg’s lap. Greg drove home, stroking Jim’s hair and completely befuddled. Jim was his Master; he was strong. What had happened? He bit his lip and held his peace. He just wanted to get Jim back to the sanctuary of their apartment and see if he could find out what had gone on. He’d figured out from the radio that it was Sunday. What had occurred between Saturday night and now?

Finally, they pulled into the garage. Greg turned off the motor and pulled Jim out of the car. “C’mon baby,” he coaxed. “Let’s go upstairs. I’ll run you a bath and fix you a drink. C’mon.” Jim went along, almost catatonic. Greg took him up in the elevator and led him into their apartment. He seated him on the couch and went in to draw a hot bath. Besides being soothing, it was also apparent that Jim had slept in his clothes and hadn’t bathed since yesterday. He’d also perspired a lot and was starting to get a little rank. He poured some bath salts into the tub and turned on the tap. Then, while the tub was filling, he went to the bar and poured a single malt for each of them which he took back into the bathroom. Then he went back to get Jim. He pulled him to his feet and pushed him into the bathroom where he seated him on a bench and undressed him. “Boy,” he exclaimed. “You smell like you’ve run a marathon.” “I’m sorry Greg,” Jim murmured. “It was an awful night. I was afraid I’d lost you.” From his knees, where he was removing Jim’s shoes, he glanced up and saw the fear had been real. He paused a moment and, taking a deep breath, bent back to his work, stripping his lover’s clothes off him. When he’d finished, he rose and removed his own less-than-pleasant smelling clothes. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get in.” Together, they eased themselves into the hot, fragrant water and settled back to allow the bath to wash away their cares.

After sipping some whiskey and soaking for a while, Greg ventured: “So can you tell me what happened? This is killing me. I mean, I-I-I.” He paused, not really even able to connect the dots. “I wake up at the airport with you holding my gun on Burt and ordering him onto a plane! What happened?” Jim looked at him intently: he was beginning to recover from the trauma. “What do you remember after you left the Milk Bar?” he asked. Greg scrunched his eyes, trying to recover what he could. “I’d asked Blake and Frank if they wanted to get something to eat but they said they were going to go to Blake’s because they were tired. So I started off toward the train. I was walking down the street.” He paused, pulling the images together. “It was dark. There was this alley, really dark, and I heard a noise. So I started in. Then I sensed something. There was this dark doorway and I sensed something.” He shook his head. “That’s it. The next thing I knew was at the airport.”

Jim’s eyes had narrowed as he listened to Greg’s story. He stared at the ceiling and thought for a while. “I think I know what happened,” he murmured. “When did you last see Burt at the Milk Bar?” “I saw him outside Delaney’s office the night before. Delaney apparently freaked at what had happened to Blake. He knew that if something had happened to Blake, it would be all over for everyone. So he fired him.” Again, Greg paused. “Just before he left Friday night. In fact, it was just after you left. I saw him looking at me with the strangest look on his face. It gave me the creeps but I didn’t have time to think about it.” Greg looked back at Jim: “What happened?” he demanded.

“When you didn’t come home Sunday morning, I got worried,” Jim began. “It was early and when I realized you weren’t home yet, I just knew something was wrong. I phoned Blake and he told me what you just said. I was getting scared. Then, all of a sudden, it hit me: it was Burt. I don’t know why, but I just sensed that he was involved. I think it was the things he did or didn’t do when he was the head trainer. There were some orders I’d given about you that he directly disobeyed. He’d never done anything like that before, so I just had the feeling there was something going on there. So I called Delaney and got his phone number and address. Then I drove down.” Jim paused to catch his breath and take a drink of whiskey. The tip of Greg’s heavy cock was peeking just above the surface of the water as it floated, standing straight up. Jim smiled and reached for it with his foot, grasping it with his toes. Greg drew a quick breath and moaned at the feel of his lover’s foot on his dick. Then Jim let go and slid his foot under Greg’s ball sack and rubbed, tickling his pucker with his big toe. “Oh God,” Greg gasped. “Please,” he begged, “finish the story. Then can you fuck me? Please!” “OK boy,” Jim smiled and giving him a last tickle, lowered his foot.

“I found his apartment and noticed that the lights were on. It was 4:15 in the morning: why were the lights on? Then I found the fire escape and climbed up. And there you were. It was apparent that you were under. He was fucking your face and then your ass. I was so upset, I accidentally knocked a flower pot down. He heard it and came to the window but I managed to hide. Then, when I could, I high-tailed it out of there. Because I’d seen the plane tickets. It all came together. He was kidnapping you and taking you to the Caymans to be his boy. I guess he’d always wanted you and figured if he didn’t get you then, he never would. So he lured you into the alley and used one of the trigger phrases to put you under.” Jim stopped and looked at Greg. Tears sprang to his eyes. He reached over and gathered Greg into his arms. “I remembered what you’d said they’d done to Ted and I was so afraid. If he’d erased your memory, I’d have killed him. I couldn’t live without you and wouldn’t want to. I was just so afraid. Thank God he didn’t,” he sobbed. Suddenly, Greg understood. A look of tenderness swept over his face and he took his lover into his arms and pulled him back to his side of the tub, coddling him and shushing him. “It’s OK Downey. It’s OK. I’m alright and we’re together. Always will be. Don’t worry. He’s gone. It’s OK.” And he rocked his weeping lover in his arms.

The Milk Bar—Chapter 64

After Jim had regained his composure and self-control, the two men climbed out of the tub and dried one another off. “Are you hungry?” Jim asked Greg. “Yeah,” he smiled, “but what I want isn’t in the kitchen.” Jim grinned at him. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say!” They wrapped their arms around each other’s waists and walked to the bedroom. They turned to face one another and Jim took Greg’s face in his hands. “I love you Greg,” he whispered. “More than my own life.” “I love you too,” Greg answered and their mouths crushed together. Jim pushed his tongue into Greg’s mouth and Greg sucked it in, hungry for his lover’s love. Their tongues wrestled and Jim ran his tongue around Greg’s teeth, exploring his mouth as though for the first time. Then he pushed Greg back onto the bed and knelt on the floor, spreading Greg’s knees, giving himself access to his boy’s smooth hole. “Oh God, I’ve missed you,” he exclaimed and dove into Greg’s eager pucker, thrusting his tongue into it and nibbling and sucking on the pink lips. Greg held Jim’s head in his hands, arched his back and moved his hips up and down, as though trying to pull his man’s head into his ass chute. He wanted him so bad he ached. “Please,” he begged. “Please fuck me. Now. Please. I can’t stand it. Fill me up. I want you in me. Fuck me now, please!” he cried. Jim rose and pushed Greg’s feet over his head, exposing his cunt to Jim’s hard, dripping rod. “You got it boy. Your ass is mine.” And he knelt on the bed and, slicking pre-cum from his own cock and from Greg’s on his rigid pole, positioned himself at Greg’s flexing opening, eased it into the warmth. Greg groaned and pulled at Jim’s hips, drawing him deeper. “Oh my god, how I need you,” he rasped. “Take me.” “You’re mine,” Jim whispered, in claim and in gratitude. Then he began to thrust into Greg’s eager ass, pulling on his erect tits and binding the two lovers, Master and boy, together once again.

They lay together, the hair on their chests glued like a sticky mat with Greg’s cum which Jim had pumped out of him onto his boy’s belly before he collapsed on top of him. Jim was tonguing Greg’s ear and tweaking his pierced tit, just enjoying the feel of his boy’s body next to his as his now-soft cock nestled in Greg’s still-grasping hole, listening to his heartbeat. “God that was good,” he murmured and Greg “ummmhmmed” his assent. After several moments of no sound, save their breathing Greg ventured “Jim?” “Yeah?” Jim murmured sleepily. “What’s going to happen to the Milk Bar?”

Jim raised himself and looked down at Greg. “What do you mean?” “Well, it just feels different all of a sudden. I mean, it started with Ted. I started to think that this just wasn’t right somehow. That something needed to change.” “What’re you talking about?” “Well, it’s wrong to take men against their will and use them this way. I mean, I’m happy it happened to me. Please don’t think I’m not happy, Downey. But, like Blake. And Ted. That shouldn’t happen. It’s not right. I mean there are enough guys around, I think, who’d actually like to be man-cows. Like Farrington or Don. They like it. I like it. I’d be happy to stay there.” Greg paused. “If that’s what you want, Sir,” he grinned. “I’ll have to think about that boy,” Jim smiled back. “So maybe we. you could suggest that they change the rules. They could end the take overs and bring guys in who want it. What do you think?” Jim searched Greg’s face as his mind considered his lover’s suggestion. “I think you’ve got a good idea. I’ll talk to the rest of the board about it. There are still some precautions we’d have to take to protect customers and man-cows but I think it’s a good idea. Thanks Barb,” he said and bent to kiss his boy. “For what?” Greg asked. “For being you,” Jim said. “For being straightforward and honest. And for being the sexiest cop I’ve ever seen,” he laughed and dove onto Greg’s at-the-moment soft dick, reaching up and grabbing his pointed tits through his fur and turning on his erection as though with a light-switch.

The Milk Bar—Epilogue.

Friday night at last and the stables at the Milk Bar were buzzing with preparations, but tonight it was different. The man-cows were laughing and joking, still following the same rituals they’d always practiced, but relaxed and looking forward to the evening’s activities. “Hey guys! You about ready?” Greg called to Blake and Frank who were administering their enemas. “Yes Sir,” Blake called back. “Just this and then a quick shower and we’re ready!” “Good deal,” Greg grinned and went back to cleaning the stubble off Don’s cock and ball sack.

The board had accepted Jim’s proposal gladly. Already, some of the members were getting nervous about what was going on at the Milk Bar. What had started out as a fun sex club for men into B&D had become something of a nightmare. Ted’s treatment had frightened many of them as they realized the enormity of what could be done to a man and the danger it presented. Ted had been taken in and cared for by Delaney. A trusted hypno-therapist had been brought in to try to recover his memories and restore him to his former self and they were making good progress.

Each of the man-cows who had been “taken over” had been brought in and put under. They were then asked if they truly wanted to remain as man-cows with the Milk Bar. Delaney himself supervised this process with Jim and other board members observing. For some, the answer was positive. Like Greg, they’d discovered this part of themselves that they’d buried for so long and now were happy to be dominated by other men. Some were definitely straight and had no interest in B&D. For these, their memories of the Milk Bar and their experiences there were locked securely away in their minds. Then they were taken to places near their homes, let out of the car and released from their trances with adequate explanation as to how they got there, at least to their own minds’ satisfaction. Whether they wanted to stay or go, all of the man-cows were instructed to forget the code phrases that would have put them into a trance. For those that stayed, they were left only with the memory blocks that prevented their recognizing Milk Bar customers outside the Milk Bar and whatever training they had received that helped them to function optimally as man-cows.

As always, Frank and Blake were brought in together. Frank had his trance programming removed first and then he was released from his trance. Then it was Blake’s turn. Jim and Greg had explained to Frank what was going to happen and, at the moment, he was living in hell because he’d hear Blake’s answer to the question of whether to stay or go. He loved Blake deeply. He’d always been attracted to him and found him smart, funny and engaging. And he’d discovered in Blake the love of his life. These last few weeks had been pure heaven because he was with the man he’d come to love and now, it might be over for them.

As Blake slipped into the trance for the last time, Frank was biting his lip and trembling. Greg saw how upset he was and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. “It’ll be OK,” he whispered. “Whatever happens, it’ll be OK.” “Yeah. sure!” Frank smiled wanly: he wasn’t so sure. Delaney was speaking to Blake now. “Blake? Can you hear me?” “Yes Sir,” Blake answered. “Blake, can you tell me the truth now?” “Yes Sir.” “Blake, do you want to leave the Milk Bar forever or do you want to stay here and be a man-cow? Tell me the truth Blake.” Blake paused. “Sir, if I leave, do I have to leave Frank?” “You want to stay with Frank?” “Yes Sir. That’s what I want.” “And if Frank wants to stay here, will you want to stay?” “Sir, if Frank’s here, I want to be here.” Tears were spilling down Frank’s cheeks as he turned and buried his head in Greg’s chest. He’d found his man at last and it was for good. He’d never been so happy. When Delaney had finished repairing Blake’s programming, Frank rushed to him and crushed him in his embrace. “I love you,” he said over and over. “Thank you.” Blake, who was not usually very demonstrative, blushed, aware that the other men in the room were watching and smiling. Then he said “What the hell! I love you Frank,” and kissed him as he held him against his body.

As the three cops were leaving the room, along with Jim, the two couples were arm-in-arm and Blake spoke. “I don’t know what happened,” he said quietly. “I always thought I was straight. Really, I still do. I dunno; maybe I’m bi. But I found my partner in Frank. He gave me that support that I’d been looking for for so long. He’s like the missing piece I wanted. And it feels so good when he fucks me.” Frank looked up sheepishly at Blake, a smile on his face and they both blushed. Jim and Greg just chuckled and Greg said “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Jim left the three man-cows at the door to the stable and went upstairs to check on arrangements for the evening. Though a number of the man-cows had volunteered to stay, there were some that were gone and they needed to make some adjustments in managing the staff.

Chet Farrington (Greg had found out his first name finally) had come in to work as a man-cow too. He’d been inducted with the new programming for the memory block but nothing else was required. He still had some physical training to undergo but his Master would care for that. After Carrothers had taken him as his slave, he’d decided to make some changes in his life. He was very well-to-do and could continue to provide for his family quite well. But it seemed that he and his wife had grown apart over the years so while she wished him well and understood his needs, she was fine with him moving in with Carrothers. So he was now Carrothers’ 24/7 slave, although he continued in his current position as CFO of a major stock firm. He just performed his duties as though he were employed by Carrothers. After all, Carrothers had a company to manage as well, so he went to work too. But sometimes on lunch hours, he would summon his boy to his office and Farrington would return to work either unable to sit or very uncomfortable, except for the times when his Master fucked him too. Then the pain blended with the warmth and he floated through the rest of the day. So Chet was there chatting with some of the other man-cows, getting his enema and getting ready to shower. There was no need for him to clean up his crotch because Carrothers insisted on shaving him himself every morning. It was a ritual Chet found profoundly humiliating and, at the same time, loving, caring and arousing. It was as though he were a little boy whose daddy had to see to his bodily grooming. He always blushed from head to toe but felt strangely comforted as his Master instructed him to turn this way, bend that way, raise his leg, spread his cheeks and hold onto his Master’s shoulder to keep his balance. Carrothers had given him permission to call him “Daddy” during the morning grooming period, further emphasizing his dependence on his Master.

The man-cows gathered for their pre-show briefing. After all had received their instructions, they fitted one another with shackles on their wrists, joined by chains to their collars. Then they started up the stairs. The announcer was welcoming the customers to the “New Milk Bar” and ensuring them that they would enjoy the same levels of service they’d always expected and were encouraged to make use of. Then the lights dimmed and the announcer said “And now gentlemen; from the New Milk Bar, our evening’s opening entertainment: Emancipation!” Applause broke out and the herd, led by Lt. Greg Barber marched through the door and up onto the stage. When they were all assembled, Greg moved forward to center stage and, raising his shackled arms over his head, jerked them outward. The shackles opened and fell to the floor. Then all the members of the herd followed suit. They were freed from their chains! Then Greg spread his arms to his side at shoulder height and stood erect. Four other man-cows: Blake, Frank, Don and Chet came and stood beside him. Blake and Frank bent and grasped his legs while Don and Chet took his arms. Then they hoisted him aloft and carried him upstage to a sling in which they laid him. Greg lifted his arms so that they could be strapped to the chains at the top and his legs, which were strapped into the bottom chains.

From the wings, Jim walked on stage. Two of the man-cows began to undress him. As his shirt parted, Greg could see the thick brown, almost black fur covering his chest. Once again, as when he’d first laid eyes on Jim’s magnificence, Greg involuntarily licked his lips. The slaves pulled his shirt off, exposing his torso. His chest was magnificently sculpted, with large brown nipples that poked out of the fur that covered his chest and washboard belly and tapered in a love trail into his pants. The slaves knelt and unhooked his slacks and pulled down the fly. He stepped out of his trousers and one man-cow slipped his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down, exposing his large cock, low hanging balls and thick bush. Greg looked over at him with adoration in his eyes. He never tired of looking at him who was his Master and his lover. His black eyes shone into Greg’s and his teeth flashed in a smile as he gazed down on his slave, his boy, his lover who had surrendered to him so many months ago and was tonight, surrendering to him again. As he moved around his boy, suspended in the sling, the muscles hiding beneath the dark fur of his chest rippled and Greg’s mouth began to water. In just a few moments, he’d again know the bliss of swallowing his Master’s cock,, but only to prepare it for the ultimate joy of having it in his cunt.

Jim arrived back at Greg’s head after completing his tour and pulled his boy’s head back to give him a clear shot at his throat. Then he placed his heavy cock on Greg’s lips. Greg licked it and sucked on the end of it, drawing the familiar tasting pre-cum in to mix with his saliva. Jim maneuvered his leaking penis and painted Greg’s lips with his natural lip gloss until Greg finally opened his mouth and beckoned his Master come in. As his cock slid into his boy’s mouth, the Master began to gently swing the sling, making his slave slide back and forth as he was face-fucked. One of the man-cows took a pair of clover-leaf tit clamps and applied them to Greg’s cones and handed the chain to Jim. All he needed to do was hold onto it and the undulating motion of the sling produced a rhythmic tugging and stretching of Greg’s nipples, making his throat contract on each swing. Finally and at last, Jim could take no more. He pulled out with a smacking sound as Greg continued to reach for his cock and moaned at his loss. But his moans would soon be transformed and he knew it. For Master was walking around the sling and soon he felt what he’d been hungering for: that pressure against his ass lips, telling him that his Lord was about to enter the gates. He moaned loudly and then squealed as his ass wriggled back and forth, trying to grasp the cock it so wanted. Jim laughed at his boy’s eagerness and slapped his ass, drawing a higher squeal of pain, surprise and delight from him. Then he gave him what he wanted; what he’d earned. He was Jim Downing’s good boy, his Master’s pride and joy, his love and his life. Jim said “Oh yeah my boy. Here comes Daddy just like he promised. Daddy’s coming home.” And he pulled the chains of the sling, pulling his boy, his Greg onto his huge cock, making his boy sigh in pleasure and happiness. “Thank You Sir,” he whispered. “My love.” And he knew that they were forever.