The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Milk Bar—Chapter 8

Greg lay there on his back, strapped to the table, his Master’s cock down his gullet, his nips abused and pre-cum oozing out of his untouched cock. He whimpered and moaned, squirming against the unyielding bonds, dying to reach his aching dick. But his Master only laughed at his frustration and pumped away at his dripping mouth. The texture, taste and warmth of that huge organ invading his mouth raised his arousal to a height he’d never thought possible. And he knew why he’d never had great sex with a woman before. No woman had ever really turned him on like this because he was gay: a fact he was becoming more comfortable with at each thrust of that meat into his throat. He was a faggot; his Master was telling him so: “Suck that dick, faggot. Take it down all the way, pussy slave. That’s right.” The verbal abuse only increased his excitement and he knew he needed to be dominated and abused. This was what really pushed his buttons. He begged Master Burt to fuck his mouth and spill his load into his belly. But all that came out were groans and whimpers.

“Good boy. Good slave. Talk to me. Vibrate your throat around my dick. That’s a good boy.” Master Burt groaned himself as Greg worked his cock. Lt. Barber was a natural; a great addition to the Milk Bar’s stable. He would bring in new customers and fetch top dollar for his talents. And his milk was Grade A too; an added bonus. It wasn’t often that you got a great milker who as also a great man cow. And handsome to boot. Burt ran his hands through the hair on Greg’s chest, luxuriating in the feel. Delaney had really pulled off a coup snagging this one! And there would be more to follow. Barber would be used to recruit more officers from the police department and increase the size of the herd. Customers really got off on cops, and real life cops were even better. There was nothing like humiliating a cop, or, conversely, being debased by a cop for those customers who were natural bottoms. Yes, the Milk Bar would be rolling in real good money before too long. And Delaney had promised Burt a cut as head trainer. That’s why he’d been entrusted with training Lt. Barber. Delaney knew it needed to be done right and Burt was the man to do it.

Burt felt himself approaching the edge and pulled himself back, bringing his concentration back to focus on the task at hand. He pulled out of Greg’s mouth, as Greg whimpered and reached for the retreating dick, just beyond the reach of his lips. “Please Sir. Please, please.” he moaned. He wanted Master’s load. “Not yet boy. I’m not ready to come. You took me close though. I almost lost it. You’ve got great potential. But you still have a lot to learn, and I can’t teach you if I’m not hard. So we’ll have a couple more lessons before I give you your first load. Now here’s what I want you to do: I’m going to fuck your mouth again and when I get in, I want you to vacuum my cock. Then I’m going to push against the back of your throat and I want you to squeeze me. To do that, I want you to say ‘ah, oh, ah, oh’. Do you understand, boy?” “Yes Sir. ‘ah, oh, ah, oh’. To squeeze your dick, Sir.” “That’s right boy. Repeat it four times. Got it?” “Yes Sir.” “Good.”

With that, Burt moved forward and placed the plum-sized head of his dick against Greg’s lips. Greg swallowed and opened wide to receive the flesh. He shuddered as the column of warm meat stretched his jaw and slid past his tongue. As it pushed against his soft palate, he resisted the urge to gag, finding it easier this time than before. He was becoming used to having a cock in his throat and learning to control his responses. He felt a flush of pride at his accomplishment and hummed his pleasure as his Master entered him once again. As the huge cock slid into his waiting and eager mouth, he sucked on it from the bottom of his being. This was his world, his purpose, his joy. Pulling this throbbing flesh into his own body; being taken and possessed by it. It was as though he were pulling its hardness all the way down into his belly and into his own rigid cock. No, wait; not his cock, but his Master’s cock, for this was what his Master was whispering to him over and over and he knew it to be true. The flesh between his legs belonged to his Master and his Master’s life force was filling it and making it as hard as stone. He’d never had such an erection! He vacuumed in his Master’s dick, his very being, as Master instructed him: Once, exhale, twice, exhale, three times, exhale, four times, exhale. Each exhalation brought a rebounding inhalation as he nursed at the milk teat in his mouth. He wanted it to never go away. He might be willing to die with it in his throat, if only he could keep it forever. But his Master knew best and rhythmically gave it and withdrew it, responding to his slave’s needs.

Greg lost track of how many repetitions they’d done. He didn’t care. When Master Burt withdrew for the last time, his mouth and throat were tired, but it was the joyful tiredness of having worked hard at a rewarding task. It was an elated tiredness. “That’s enough for now, boy. You’ve done well. You’re going to be an excellent cock-sucker. But for now, you need some rest,” Master Burt told him, stroking his tired cheek. He took the bottle of energizing liquid once again, and pushed its cock-shaped nipple into Greg’s mouth. Greg drank gratefully, thankful for the flood of energy that spread through his body. As he lay there recovering his strength Master removed the straps binding him to the table and helped him sit up.

“OK, boy. It’s time for a visit to the Pumper. Got to get those tits enlarged. Can’t have a man cow with tiny tits, can we, boy?” Burt asked, rhetorically, slapping him on the butt. “No Sir,” Greg responded and dropped to his knees, as he knew was expected. Burt clipped a leash to his collar and headed toward the door, Police Lt. Greg Barber, slaveboy and man cow scrambling after him on his hands and knees.

Master Burt led the slave down the hall to another room lined with posts against several of which were shackled handsome men. “This is the Pump Room,” Master told him. Slave Greg noticed Ted shackled to one of the posts. He had pumping tubes attached to his tits, sucking on his nipples. He, like the others, also had a large lucite tube attached to his shaved cock and balls, sucking them in, expanding their girth. He also had a wire inserted in his ass; something Greg couldn’t figure out. Each man had earphones on his head and there was a monitor placed in front of him. It rather looked like a dairy where the cows were kept entertained while they were being milked, Greg thought. Master pulled Greg to an empty post and hauled him to his feet. “Up against the post,” he ordered him. Greg obeyed, moving his arms into the opened shackles at the sides. Burt closed and locked the shackles.

The Pumper, who ran this room, came over to Greg, a smile on his face. “Well, well, Lt. Barber,” he purred, “It’s good to see you again.” He kneaded and stroked Greg’s tits and balls. Clearly, he enjoyed his work and Greg, moaning, enjoyed his ministrations. The Pumper snapped his fingers and a slave wheeled a pumping trolley over to him. The Pumper took some mineral oil and slicked it on Greg’s tits and balls. “This will help prevent the skin cracking while we’re pumping you up. Don’t want to have you bleeding and such. Customers don’t like it,” the Pumper said, licking his lips and staring at Greg’s nipples. Then he took two lucite tubes, smeared some petroleum jelly on the ends (“To ensure good suction,” he said.) and flipped the switch on the machine. He took the tubes and held them against Greg’s tits, waiting until the flesh was sucked into the tube before letting go. “Good,” he said, “that will be fine to start.” Then he took a larger tube, smeared the jelly on it and, lifting Greg’s heavy cock and balls, placed them inside the tube and pressed it against his shaved pubes.

Greg felt the sucking on his dick and nearly lost his mind. “Please Master. Please let me come. Oh, please.” he groaned. “No boy. Not now. That’s not why you’re here,” the Pumper replied, again snapping his fingers. The assistant slave wheeled a monitor over and placed it in front of Greg. He took a pair of earphones and placed them over Greg’s ears. Then, using a remote, started a program. Greg’s eyes were drawn to the swirling patter on the screen as the voice coming through the earphones told him that he belonged here and belonged to the Milk Bar. His cock and balls, his tits, his ass and his cum all belonged to the Milk Bar. He was forbidden to come for now. “Repeat your programming, slave.” “I belong here. I belong to the Milk Bar. My cock and balls, my tits, my ass and my cum belong to the Milk Bar. I’m forbidden to come,” Greg repeated and believed. His mind fully accepted what it heard and he could know nothing else. His nipples extended half an inch into the tubes on his chest and his cock was half again its normal size, blood-red and leaking pre-cum into the vacuuming tube. It was the same with each of the man cows around the room. Their pre-cum was being siphoned off into collection jars, each with an individual ID to indicate which man cow it had come from. This setup was one of Delaney’s and Burt’s ingenious developments: program the cattle with individualized programs while pumping them to increase the size of their teats that customers so enjoyed sucking on, both on their chests and between their legs. The only sounds in the room were the sounds of the pumps running and the murmuring of the cattle as they hypnotically repeated their programming.

The Milk Bar—Chapter 9

Greg was awakened by the Pumper’s removing the tubes from his tits and cock and balls. He glanced around the room and saw that the other posts were empty. He was the last one in the Pump Room. His tits were huge, poking out from the dark fur on his pecs at least three quarters of an inch. As the Pumper removed the tube from each swollen tit, he quickly wrapped it tightly with string, trapping the blood in the expanded nub. “Before too long, you’ll have decent tits like all the other cattle here,” laughed the Pumper. He slapped Greg’s tits sending a shock wave through his tender points. Like his nipples, his cock and balls were swollen, red and exquisitely sensitive. As the Pumper slid the tube off his dick and snapped a rubber cock-ring in place, the slave nearly came right there and gave a shuddering gasp. “Don’t you come boy. Your cum belongs to the Milk Bar. Don’t you dare spill it on the floor,” warned the Pumper. “Yes Sir, I mean no Sir. I’m sorry Sir,” Greg gasped, striving to hold his responses in check. He’d nearly gone over the edge, but managed to pull himself back just in time. “Good boy. That’s very good. You’re conditioning is having its effect already. Mr. Delaney will be very pleased,” the Pumper smiled. Greg responded with a wan smile. “Thank you Sir. I do my best for my Masters. My cum belongs to the Masters, not to me.”

Burt came into the room and walked to the post to which Greg was shackled. “Well boy, I see that the Pumper’s done his work on your teats for the afternoon. Burt hefted his swollen balls. “These are great. Our customers are going to love working these over. Let’s get them stretched, since the Pumper’s gotten you started.” With that, he took a large metal ring from a drawer. It looked like a small wide doughnut made of chrome. Master Burt took an Allen wrench and unscrewed two bolts that joined the halves, permitting them to part. Now it looked like a doughnut broken in two. Burt held one half in back of Greg’s sac, then placed the other half in front, joining them together to surround his scrotum. He reinserted the screws and tightened them down, fastening the ring onto Greg’s bag and let it go. It weighed at least a pound and pulled Greg’s already swollen, extended jewels even lower. Greg caught his breath as his weighted balls swung back and forth like a pendulum. “There. That’ll help to get those milk bags even lower. Our customers like a man cow with bags that swing,” laughed Burt and slapped Greg’s testicles.. “Now let’s get you down from there and give you some more training. It’s time you had some singing lessons.” Burt and the Pumper both laughed loudly. Greg could only look at them quizzically; singing lessons? What did he need singing lessons for? Was he going to be expected to perform too? Did they have floorshows at the Milk Bar?

Burt unshackled him from the post and fastened the leash around his collar. Greg automatically dropped to his hands and knees and followed Burt out of the room, his weighted balls swinging as he crawled and bouncing off his thighs.

Burt took him back to the Training room. Inside, he removed his leash and ordered him to beg for cock. Greg, remembering his lessons, mounted Burt’s leg and began humping it. “Please Sir. May I suck your cock? Please Sir. Nothing would please me more than to please you. Let me milk you Sir,” he begged as he rubbed his naked cock against his Master’s leg. He wasn’t aware that this language had been part of his last induction session; he just knew the words came to his mind. “Very well boy. I’d love to have you suck me off. Now listen to what I tell you.” Greg lifted his head to watch Master Burt’s mouth, afraid of missing a syllable of his instructions. Burt continued: “You will take my cock as far down your throat as you can. Then I want you to thrust against it until you feel the gag reflex subside. Once you’re accustomed to having my dick in your throat, I want you to start to hum. You can hum any note you want; I don’t care. But I want you to hum loudly. Is that clear?” “Yes Sir. I understand Sir,” Greg responded eagerly. So this was what they meant about singing lessons.

Greg opened his hungry mouth as Burt pulled his heavy dick out of his pants. It was already stiff, so the slave had no work to do to get it up. He took it into his mouth and slid over it eagerly. How he wanted that cock! He pushed against it until it hit his soft palate and he felt the urge to gag. He held it for a moment and then backed off, as he’d been taught. Then he moved forward again. Again and again he repeated the action until, at last, he no longer felt the gagging rising from his gullet. Then he pushed himself further over the warm, stiff column of flesh filling his mouth, feeling it move past his palate and into his throat. When it was firmly in place, he began to hum. As he hummed he could feel his throat vibrating around the tube that filled it. Suddenly, he was out of air. He desperately needed to breathe. So he pulled of Burt’s penis and gasped for air. As fast as he could, he caught his breath and dove onto that cock again. And started humming again. He could feel his Master’s dick throb in his throat and felt the warmth of pre-cum dripping into his stomach. “I’m pleasing my Master,” he thought and the thought made him happy.

“Now,” Burt ordered, “Sing a scale. Like this.” And Burt sang a scale up and down. He actually had a good voice, Greg thought. But that didn’t real matter. Obviously, this was another way to stimulate the rod in his gullet. So he sang the scale in imitation of his Master. He could feel the vibrations moving up and down the heavy flesh and immediately realized the effect it had on the owner of the penis. Burt, grabbed his hair as he sang and pressed his trimmed pubes against Greg’s nose. “Ooohhhhh God,” he moaned, “ooohhhh yessss.” Greg was an apt pupil and would soon be a star for the Milk Bar. The Master and slave went at it for another fifteen minutes, until the boy was completely winded. “Enough!” Burt ordered and Greg sat back on his haunches, gasping for breath.

“Next lesson: sing a song; any song. Show me what you got,” Burt ordered the kneeling slave. Remembering his lessons from voice-classes in his fling with the Fine Arts in college, Greg tried a song that covered a wide range, going from low to high and back down. (Oh, the irony of it all: Greg had finally found himself, he thought, studying law enforcement. He’d become a cop and then an officer. Now he found that all that training and discipline had brought him to this place: on his knees before a Master, sucking his hard cock and hoping only to make him happy.). As he sang, Master Burt began to breathe rapidly, gasping for air himself. Greg could feel the hard shaft throbbing in his throat and he worked all the harder, pulling for his first load. He wanted his Master’s cum! Master began to grunt and groan and suddenly grabbed Greg’s ears and slammed his head against his pubes as his cock erupted, spewing spunk down the slave’s vibrating throat. “Aaaaaaarrrrrrrgghhh. Oh, oh, ah, ah, ah, aaaahhhhhh. Oh God. Uuuhhhh, uuuuhhhhhhh,” he yelled as his pelvis slammed into the milker’s mouth. Greg swallowed as fast as he could, trying to keep up with the jets of salty-bitter cum filling his gullet. But he couldn’t handle the huge load and it spilled out the sides of his mouth, dribbling down his chin and onto the forest of hair on his chest. Then he began to see stars and the room began to grow dark as Sir pumped in his throat. He was losing consciousness from the lack of air. Air! He needed air. He pulled for air but found that nothing could get around the pole filling his throat!

Then Master pulled out of him and collapsed against the wall, his chest heaving. Greg gasped for air like a drowning man, for that, in fact was what he was; he was drowning on cock and cum. He choked as he inhaled cum and air at the same time and collapsed onto all fours. Finally, his lungs cleared and blessed air filled them and his vision began to clear. His throat was tired; his mouth was tired and he was out of breath, but he didn’t forget his manners. “Thank you Sir. Thank you for using your man cow,” he gasped, bowing his head. Another phrase that just popped into his mind; from whence, he didn’t know. He savored the flavor on his tongue: the flavor of another man. Master Burt, his own furred chest heaving, looked down at him and ruffled his hair. “Good boy. Good slave,” he said. “You’re a great cock sucker already. You’re going to go far.”

When both had recovered, Master Burt snapped the leash onto the slave’s collar and led him back to his stall for food, water and rest. The slave begged for his enhancers by humping his Master’s leg, as was expected. Then his bowls were filled with food and water. He ate and drank and collapsed in the corner, falling into a deep sleep.

The Milk Bar—Chapter 10

The days went by, some quickly, some slowly. Each day included more training in cock sucking. Greg was becoming very good at arousing a man and taking him to the edge, only to pull him back, over and over. His Master was very pleased with his progress which pleased him. He also had his daily sessions in the Pump room, his tits, cock and balls being pumped while his induction was deepened. He now knew for an absolute certainty that his cock and balls and his cum belonged to the Milk Bar. He was tested every day, being milked by one of the accomplished slaves and he never came unless he was given permission by his Master. Not that he didn’t want to come. But that wasn’t his privilege any longer. He belonged to the Milk Bar and his milk belonged to the Milk Bar and whoever would pay to receive it.

One morning, when Master Burt came for him, he ventured softly: “Sir?” “Yes boy, what is it?” “Sir, I’ve been away from my work for too long now I think. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, but I think I’ve been away too long, Sir.” Burt smiled at him. “That’s not a problem boy. Mr. Delaney called and explained that you’d been called out of town on a family emergency. He said he was your brother. They told him to tell you not to worry about it; that you should come back when you were ready.” “Thank you Sir. But Sir? How much longer before I can go back to work?"” “Well boy, you’re about ready to graduate from your basic training. Once you’ve had your graduation ceremony, you’ll be released. How does that sound?” “Terrific Sir. I mean, I like it here; I’m comfortable here. But I miss my work.” “I understand boy. Tonight’s graduation. But right now, let’s get you ready for your debut.” With that, Master Burt snapped on his leash and led him out of his stall.

After a couple of weeks of pumping, Greg’s tits had grown to the size of pencil erasers. The ball-weight he’d been wearing had pulled his testicles down so that they extended below the flaccid five inches of his cock (except that his cock was never flaccid). Burt led him down the hall to the Pump Room and removed his leash. “Up,” he commanded and Greg climbed onto the table, lying on his back. Burt took leather straps, strapped him down and applied a black rubber suction cup to his right tit and left in place for twenty minutes.

While Greg lay there on the table, the Pumper came into the room with some equipment. He took a needle and a small gold dumbbell out of a sterile package. He unscrewed one ball-end from the dumbbell and laid it aside. Greg realized then what was about to happen to him. “Please Sir,” he whispered, “please don’t. I have to undress at the gym and at work sometimes. They’ll ask questions and laugh at me. They’ll figure it out. Please Sir.” He was almost crying at the expected humiliation. “What’s that to me?” the Pumper said. “You’ll have to work that out for yourself. This is how I’ve been instructed to mark you as a Milk Bar man cow. Now open,” he ordered and Greg opened his mouth, tears welling in his eyes. The Pumper placed a riding crop between his teeth and ordered him to bite down. Then he pulled off the suction cup, swabbed Greg’s tit with alcohol, pinched it up, pulling it away from his chest and plunged the needle through it. Greg bit down hard on the crop and yelled through his clenched teeth, thrashing his head back and forth. The pain wasn’t as much as he thought: it was worse. His tits had become so sensitive in the last couple of weeks that he felt each millimeter of the needle as it pierced his flesh. The Pumper used the needle to pull his tit away from his chest and inserted the dumbbell through the hole, screwing the ball end-back in place. Finally, he wiped away the blood. As the sharp pain subsided into a dull ache, Burt returned to the room with some different tools. He took two pieces of shiny, flat metal and fastened them to Greg’s collar. “That means you’re an accomplished milker and that you can hold your load until you’re given permission to come. That’s the first level of proficiency here at the Milk Bar. Then he held up a flat tag in front of Greg’s eyes. “Slave Greg—Cop” it read. Burt fastened the tag to the buckle of Greg’s collar. “You’re now an official man cow of the Milk Bar. We’ll spend the rest of the day preparing you for your coming out tonight,” Burt laughed and the Pumper laughed with him. After Master had unstrapped him from the table and he’d lowered himself to the floor, his leash was snapped on and Burt led him down the hall to the wash room. His newly pierced right tit throbbed with each “step” as he crawled after his Master.