Morning Glory Milking Farm by C.M. Nascosta

Chapter 15

“No coffee tonight,” he announced as she entered the collection room, smiling at the way his voice seemed to bounce against the tiles. “We’re getting piñata juggernauts. Limited time only. Everybody likes ice cream, you can’t say no.”

The only camera in the collection room was above the milking machine, and the scope of the fish-eyed lens only captured the machine and the cooler, where the valuable collections were stored. The privacy and anonymity of the clients were one of the farm’s top priorities, thus there was no eye in the sky in the top level of the room, leaving her free to climb the short staircase and pull down her mask, stretch up to her toes, and kiss the pink expanse between his exposed nostrils. There was no room for argument or debate, he’d made up his mind and that was final.

Violet tsked, even though she knew that she’d be giving in to his whims. He’d already let her know that he would be hangry and terrible company if they didn’t eat something before their last-minute dinner reservation, had been grousing non-stop that it had taken nearly a month to secure and the best time slot offered was at one in the morning. “If they’re strolling around getting coffee all day, why can’t they have normal reservation times?” he’d demanded the day before, when his name finally came up in the La Vie Rouge reservation queue. She’d be going to his house from work, where she’d wait for him to get home and evidently eat a week’s worth of sugar by way of a limited-time iced cream treat. She couldn’t wait.

“Okay, first of all, that’s very bossy of you. Plus that thing’s got to be five thousand calories!”

She’d not anticipated seeing him before then; hadn’t expected to see him at the farm at all, but when she’d been handed her files for the day, a purple sticker peeked up from the bottom, setting her heart into a climbing expedition up her throat all afternoon.

Her schedule had been a solid wall of Earners, the easiest day she could have asked for.

“Wait,” her first client had ground out, teeth clenching as the nozzle finished him off. “Don’t pull it yet, I’ve got more.” Sure enough, after minutes of leg shaking and teeth-gnashing, several more spurts of semen entered the bottle, bringing it just over the fill line. The bull was maybe a decade older than Rourke, sable with ivory markings, with horns filed to smooth, rounded ends and a braided copper ring in his nose. It was an impressive amount, Violet thought as she labeled the bottle, all things considered.

“Our youngest is starting school in the fall,” the minotaur said with a shaky laugh, pushing himself off the bench on unsteady legs. “We thought the local university would have been less expensive than moving away, but . . .” He trailed off with a shake of his head and Violet nodded sympathetically.

“Nothing here is inexpensive,” she agreed, earning a snort and another nod as the bull hitched up his jeans. “I understand why, and it’s such a nice place you wouldn’t want to see anything change, but still. It’s a lot. You know,” she added as the minotaur headed for the door, “oysters and spinach. Add them to your diet, if you’re not allergic. The zinc and folate help with, ah, production. If you’re trying to bank that first semester . . .” She trailed off with a blush.

“Oysters,” he repeated seriously, head bobbing, either not noticing her reddened ears or not caring. “I’ll definitely be doing that. Thanks for the tip!”

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion, and she found herself paying closer attention to her clients than she ever did before. Every minotaur who came in with a ring through his nose left her wondering if he had a new baby at home, a family vacation to save for, a down payment on a house. The bulls without rings may have been students, may have been looking to splurge on a gaming system or pay hospital bills or start building a retirement fund. She’d long ago accepted that Kirime was right: this wasn’t sex work, especially not for the employees, but she realized that it likely wasn’t for the bulls who visited the farm either. Humans have commodified us. This wasn’t any different than selling plasma for bar money. She passed the other human in the hall just then, who would forever and always be Stiff Grip Sally in her head, the girl plodding along in a pair of alpine milkmaid scrubs. Well . . . it’s still sexual for some of them.

She’d practically bounced into the collection room once his file finally rested in her hands, overjoyed that she’d be able to hold him and stroke him again, but he’d yet to release his hold on her as his face screwed up into a familiar pout.

“Then we’ll share one,” Rourke insisted, dropping his giant hands to her hips, preventing her from pulling away. “You can pick the flavor. There are chocolate stars inside and rainbow confetti, so frankly I don’t understand why this is even a conversation. And I’m an eldest child, so just in case you were keeping score, being bossy is my birthright.”

His always-messy hair tumbled over his forehead, and she leaned forward against him, reaching up to brush it back when she felt it. He was there for his weekly appointment, there to be milked, and he’d always followed the courtesies of the farm. It was preposterous for the heavy bulge at the front of his pants to shock her, but she gasped all the same when he pulled her flush against him, a slow, closed mouth grin spreading across his face. She’d held his cock in her hands, had stroked and pumped it, knew its weight and sensitivities . . . but feeling it pressed to her, even through several layers of clothing, when she’d not yet felt it pressed to her was tortuous. She clawed at his broad chest for purchase, whimpering when his hips shifted, moving the hard bulge against her.

“You know,” he murmured, hands continuing to press her to him, “I was originally going to cancel today. I’ve got a hot date tonight, figured I should probably stay home and get ready. Then I thought it might be smart to keep my normal appointment, take the edge off before tonight . . . but now I think I’d rather keep the edge. Save it all for her.”

“Oh?” her voice came out on a squeak, and his smile twitched. “And what made you change your mind?”

“Well, you know, I like this girl. A lot. We have a great connection, we have fun together. I can envision her in my life in five years, ten years. And I know that probably seems a bit premature, moving a little fast, but this isn’t my first rodeo and I’ve been stupid in relationships before. Now I know what I want, and she checks all my boxes. I think I do for her as well. And tonight is supposed to be the big night. We’ve been taking things slow, I’m a gentleman after all . . .”

Her throat closed and her finger clenched the material of his crisp dress shirt, a shade of lavender that was so pale it was nearly silver. If he’d rushed her into bed as quickly as she would have liked, she would always wonder if that’s all their relationship was to him—sexual release from a source he already knew could satisfy him. He liked her personal touch, and she’d always be insecure that was all she was to him. It was backward thinking and stupidly outdated, but her mother and aunt had talked about no one buying the cow when the milk is free for years, and she’d obviously absorbed a bit of it.

Instead, he’d brought her into his life and had given her the opportunity to call the shots. He’s been making such an effort, literally from day one. He’d picked most of their date locales, he’d taken a step away from her work to prevent muddying the waters. They’d been hiking and had gone for walks in the park, she had seen grand old buildings and beautiful art, tried new food and met his neighbor and obvious friend. He’d acknowledged their different social standings and had given her every opportunity to change her mind . . . like a gentleman. Her cheeks colored when she realized how little sex actually had to do with it.

“Like a perfect gentleman,” she agreed, leaning into him. Nothing was said for a long moment, and he cradled the side of her face in his palm, what had become a familiar, tender gesture. The pressure of his velvet thumb against her cheek was a whisper, and she thought he was right: he checked all her boxes.

His smile lit the room, and she swayed. “I’m going to leave. Save this all for later.” Back and forth, a movement so slow she might have thought she was imagining it, he pressed his erection against her, a promise, she thought, of things to come. It wasn’t all about sex, but the sex was absolutely going to be a perk. It’s a good thing we’re going back to his place then. You’d wind up gumming up the washing machine in the building from the mess on the sheets. Mrs. Muehlstein will try to do her laundry after you and get everything covered in minotaur milk. “As a matter of fact,” he continued, interrupting himself with a slight groan when she twisted her hips to grind into the bulge in his pants, “I’m not even sure we’re going to make it to get ice cream. We might need to jump right to the post-dessert activities.”

“That’ll just make the main course more satisfying,” she suggested with a laugh, pushing herself off his chest until he released her hips. As much as she wanted to drop to her knees and service him with her mouth right there, it wouldn’t do to get caught, not if she wanted to still be employed tomorrow, and she was forced to agree with him—keeping an edge had been thrilling, if not a teensy weensy bit frustrating.

“I guess I should get going if I’m not giving a collection today. I might end up surprising my date early. I hope she comes prepared.”

* * *

She thought he might have been joking.

His massive truck was sitting in the driveway when she pulled up to the address he’d given her—a cute little cape cod-style on a tree-lined street—and she half expected him to be waiting at the door, ready to lead her on to the night’s adventures. Instead, she’d needed to knock, letting herself in when his deep voice bellowed that it was unlocked from somewhere deep in the house.

Her earlier explorations of the neighborhoods in Cambric Creek had not gone amiss, for she saw immediately that the entire house seemed designed for someone his size. Rourke’s slate blue house was nestled in between two of identical build, the accommodative architecture that made this multi-species community so in-demand. The doorways were wide and tall, the depth between the counters and the cupboards great enough that his horns would be safe from collision, everything bigger, taller, designed for someone of stature and bulk.

She’d just stepped through the kitchen, eyeing the green tartan blanket on the back of the sofa when he appeared.

The small, white towel, slung low across his hips was all that he wore. Wore was a bit of an overstatement, she realized, for the jut of his erection pushed forward the front of the towel, showing the curve of his heavy balls just beneath the hem. Dragging her eyes up his taut abdomen, over his pebbled nipples and broad shoulders, taking in the way his short hide thickened around his neck, full and plush, she wanted nothing more than to wake up beside him with her face pressed to his throat. Her eyes continued their hungry climb, landing at last on his aggrieved scowl.

“You’re wearing entirely too many clothes.”

“I thought we were going for ice cream!” she exclaimed with a laugh, earning a terse head shake in return.

He tsked, crossing his massive arms over his chest, and she held her breath, but the towel stayed where it was. “We discussed this. After-dessert activities first. Then dessert. Then we’ll need to take a nap since we’re going to dinner in the middle of the fucking night.”

The dress she’d be wearing to the restaurant that night belonged to Geillis: a black dress more sophisticated than anything else she owned, with a deep, plunging center, cut down to the small of her back and the middle of her chest respectively, making an ordinary bra an impossibility, but she should have known that borrowing anything from Geillis would automatically mean that ordinary would not be a part of the equation.

“The goal is to show some skin, not cover up like a bloody abbess! Of course you’re not going to wear a bra, do you want him to be able to reach across the table and pinch your nipple or not?!”

The thought of Rourke nonchalantly freeing her breast at the dinner table to play with her nipples in front of the other patrons was a preposterous one, but she would have been a liar if she’d claimed it hadn’t made her wet. The dress was safely secured in her backseat, and she’d chosen a simple sleeveless shift for the start of the evening’s adventures, appropriate for getting ice cream and strolling through town, or whatever else she thought he might have had up his sleeve.

“This needs to go. Immediately.”

She had barely enough time to kick off her shoes before he was drawing the zipper down her back, letting it puddle around her ankles, his scowl growing deeper as he eyed her mesh bra and panties. “I can’t believe you wore underwear! Now you want to keep your panties on. Violet, did you by chance think I was talking about a different date?”

He continued to glower as she laughed, but made no move to stop her when she reached out and tugged on the corner of the towel, letting it fall to the floor, freeing his cock with a bounce. Full and fat and completely delicious, and hers for the taking. “If there’s someone else coming, she’s going to need to get in line, I’ve waited long enough.” His eyes closed with a groan when she wrapped her hand around his stiff shaft, stroking it as she’d done countless times before, knowing exactly how he liked to be touched.

“Is this what you want, sweetheart? Is this cock what you want?”

She continued to stroke him as he walked them backward down the hallway, turning her to drop onto her back against the biggest bed she’d ever seen. She was struck at that moment, gazing up at him, at how completely non-human he really was. It was an easy thing to overlook at the farm: minotaurs came and went in a constant stream all day long, and she never saw more of them than the view afforded by the milking room’s lower level, from their hips up. Clad in t-shirts and uniforms and business attire, it was easy to trick herself that under their clothes, they would look like any other human, if not bulkier. Seeing him like this, standing over her—broad-chested and thick with muscle, every inch of him covered in his silky-coarse hide, his bulging thighs giving way to hocks and hooves, his thin tail a sinuous whip behind him—felt positively primal. Definitely no going back to humans after this. “This is the only cock I want. I feel like I’m an Athenian sacrifice.”

His responding chuckle was a rumble against her breasts as he covered her. “You know what happened to those sacrifices, right? What did they teach you in your human schools? That the minotaur ate all of the tributes? That’s true, but not the way you think. I’m going to give you this cock, sweetheart . . . but you know the rules. First, you need to come on my tongue, or nothing else happens.”

His tumble of messy hair tickled her stomach as he kissed his way down her body, pausing to press his wide nose to the front of her panties. The heat of his mouth closed over the gusset, the press of his tongue against the material—wide and hot, so hot—scraped over her clit and she arched. Being sucked through the mesh of her underwear shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, Violet thought, but when he abruptly changed direction, moving back up her body to her mouth, she yelped in dismay, grabbing onto his shoulders as his huge horns loomed above her.

“Violet, I just wanted to say . . . I really like you.” The sharp tone was gone, his commanding CEO voice replaced with a ring of sincerity. “I’m glad we took some time to get to know each other. I know this wasn’t exactly a traditional way to meet, and I wanted to make sure you knew I was interested in you. Not just your perfect, tiny hands.”

Her indignant laugh cut off of a gasp as his mouth met hers, teeth pulling her lip. She liked him too, liked him enough that she could see herself in a relationship with him, could more than imagine those lazy Sunday mornings, the coffee and snuggling and soft lovemaking. He was more than just a client at the clinic, more than initials and an ID number on a white-filled bottle.

The heat of his tongue was like a trail of fire, laving at each of her nipples in turn, catching them in his blunt teeth, scraping and snuffling, breathing his molten heat across her stomach and over her hips. When his wide muzzle nosed against her thighs, her legs fell open once more, gladly allowing him to press against her, his thick tongue pressing into her folds. She wasn’t sure if the time would come when she wouldn’t completely fall apart as he ate her, completely engulfing her entire sex with his huge mouth. His tongue was so thick and wide that it moved across every inch of her, from clit to slit, and it was the all-consuming pressure and heat and his impeccable sense of rhythm that pushed her over the edge. The shape of his mouth meant he didn’t so much suck on her clit as he did slurp on it, an act that involved the roughness of his tongue and the pressure of suction, but wetter and somehow somuch better, better than anything she’d ever experienced before and likely never would again. The pressure that began mounting behind her navel began to involve her legs, a twitching convulsion that involved her entire nervous system as he slurped at her clit, groaning encouragement that sent her to the stars. Her hands locked around his horns as she shook, cunt throbbing against the roughness of his tongue, and the bastard had the nerve to laugh, the vibrations of his chuckle against her making her contort all over again.

When he coated his thick fingers in a lube retrieved from the bedside table, the smell immediately made her sit up. “Did you get that from the farm?!”

“Actually, I did. It came in my third reward tier.”

“Your what? Wait, never mind, tell me later. Use a little bit more, it feels thick but it loosens up the more you work it.” She dropped back on the mattress again, breathing deeply. She could do this. You just need to relax, don’t tighten anything up.

His first finger stroked into her slowly, pressing into her walls and curling in all the right places. It was a slow, delicious torture. His second finger added a fullness to the pleasure, and he continued to press and stretch, scissoring them open against her resistance, and Violet knew she was meant to be focused on opening up for him, but it felt so ridiculously good that she moaned, earning a reproachful huff. The third was a much tighter fit, and she was reminded that his hands were considerably larger than those belonging to his human counterparts.

“I’m going to go slow, but I want you to tell me if it’s too much.” A deep rumble that brokered no argument, her eyes fluttering as his hand continued to move. Watching him drizzle the viscous lubricant over his cock was more erotic than it had the right to be, and then he was dragging the fist-sized head over her clit and her composure broke.

“Please,” she whimpered, “please please please . . . I need your cock so bad.” Her begging broke on a gasp as the thick flare of his head caught at her lips when he pressed into her, agonizingly slow. In the morning she might look back with rose-colored glasses, might remember nothing but the pleasure, but at that moment she felt the burn, his fat cock stretching her further than she’d ever been stretched, pressing into her steadily.

“You don’t need to beg for it, Violet, it’s yours, anytime you want it. I’m going to spoil your pussy with this big bull cock every day if that’s what you want.”

The backward drag of him pulling out made her throat stick, and then he was pushing back in, further than he’d gone before, and Violet was positive she felt it pressing into her spine. “Yes, give it to me,” she wheezed, burying her fingers into the thicker hide around his shoulders as he began to pump. Slow and deep, deeper than she’d ever been fucked, and it was so fucking good. “You’ve been so good,” she babbled, “so sweet and bossy and I love it and you’re such a gentleman and I love your cock.” His hands slipped under her ass as he groaned, tilting her hips in a way that made her wheeze.

“There’s nothing gentlemanly about the way I’m going to fuck you, sweetheart.”

She felt a pressure at her entrance, uncomfortable with a slight burn and she had no idea what it could possibly be . . . he grunted as he thrust, a white-hot pain ripping through her and she realized it was the thick swell of his shaft that all the bulls at the farm possessed. Too much, too much . . . you weren’t even taking half of him and it felt like the biggest thing in the world. Once . . .twice. . . a slight shift of her hips . . . and on the third pump of his hips she moaned, the pain replaced with a pleasure that wiped her vision.

When he pulled out, she thought she might scream. Her face pressed to the bed when he flipped her, his oddly-angled hips pressing into her from behind. “Do you know what happened to the tributes in the labyrinth, Violet?” The swollen, streaming head of his cock pressed into her on a much smoother glide than it had the first time, dragging against her and stretching her wide, making her pant. “They were given to the minotaur to appease his lust. His insatiable lust, that no human man could match.”

The stretch of his swell, still a burn, a deeper pressure, and then he groaned, bottoming out in her at last. She’d never before been so full, so stuffed, and she was sure the outline of his cock would be visible through her belly, were she not still face down on the bed.

“They had to send new tributes every year, but the old ones never left. They stayed because they were addicted to the way they were filled,” his hips gripped hers, drawing back slowly, “addicted to the way they were fucked by the bull.” A firm thrust, and then a second, the same solid, steady pounding she’d imagined as he thrust against the bench. With every slam of his hips, she felt his hide-covered skin and bulging thighs, could well imagine the way his wide hooves scraped against the flooring as he rutted her slowly, feeling every inch a tribute to the minotaur, completely addicted to the way he was fucking her. When his heavy balls began to slap against her, she unraveled.

“I want to feel you come around my cock, Violet. I want you to squeeze me until your cunt has the permanent shape of me, because it’s the only cock that’s ever going to make you scream like this again.” His thrusts into her began to take on a sense of urgency as she babbled, grunting as his cock kissed the most sensitive spots inside her, pounding into her the same way he’d fucked into her hands at the farm. He’d missed his milking, had missed the opportunity to take the edge off his arousal, and tomorrow they could spend all day with soft lovemaking. She could do nothing to provide a plentiful speedy collection from where she was pinned beneath him, but her bull needed milking, and she was desperate to help him over the edge.

“Come inside me,” she begged, her legs beginning to shake. The drag of his cockhead against her g-spot was making her stomach seize, and the stretch of that swell had her nearly sobbing in pleasure. “Please please, empty those big balls inside me, I want you to give me every drop.”

When his thick fingers began to stroke circles around her clit, she was finished. His neighbors probably thought someone was being murdered, but she was unable to control the strangled wail that ripped from her throat as her pussy clenched, tears running down her cheeks at how good it was. The first burst within her was a molten wave, the roar of his moan making the room shake as he came. Pulse after pulse of heat, those big balls throbbing, and through it all, he never stopped pumping. She knew how much he came, saw the evidence of his orgasms every week, but nothing had prepared her for being on the receiving end of twenty-four ounces of his hot milk. She was able to feel it already dripping out of her, the obscene squelch of his erupting cock emphasizing the mess that was being made. One last groan, one last hot spurt inside of her, and he was done, slumping against the elbows he’d braced around her so that she’d not be crushed under his weight.

This is it,she thought. He’d better be in this for the long haul because he’s ruined you for any other cock.

The withdrawal was a stomach-quivering absence of pressure, followed by a gush of fluid that nearly made her come again.

“Fuck. This is a waterproof blanket, but I should have put down a few towels,” he groaned. Instantly, his hands were everywhere: stroking her back, her hips, her hair, wrapping around her middle and gently pulling her flush to him. “Violet, are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I? Talk to me sweetheart, I need to hear your words. Am I going to need to carry you to get ice cream?”

She laughed. Violet couldn’t help herself. It started in her toes and reverberated up her body, coming out of her mouth in a peal of colored light, utterly absent of stress or worry. He was sharp and charming and ridiculously bossy, and she thought she might already be half in love with him. She was thoroughly fucked, and they were about to get ice cream for early dinner. “You really are such a gentleman.”

First, though, she had to get up. Get up and clean up, which might be quite the undertaking, covered as she was in his sticky, sweet cream.