The Milk Farm
by Blackdog
theblackdogs@aol.com
copyright 2004 by Blackdog, all rights reserved
* * * * *
This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It contains
explicit depictions of sexual activity involving minors. If
you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such
material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not
read further, and do not save this story.
* * * * *
Prologue
Taylor Holden was more excited, and in more agony than he'd
ever been in his young life. His naked body was mounted on a
galloping horse. His hands were bound behind him, and buried
deep into his preteen anus was a long, thick black plastic
phallus.
The invader in his tailhole and the deep penetration into
his rectum had brought his cock up steel straight; indeed,
as the horse ran, he could feel his straining penis tap
against his flat belly.
Bound around the base of his cock and around his hairless
balls was a plastic band. It served to keep all the blood
locked in his yearning boydick, to lift and make more
prominent his sex organs, and to keep him from having the
ejaculation that he now craved so much.
Each stride of the horse was another deep, teasing, stuffing
stroke into his asshole. Each step was another erotic itch
in his aching balls and cock. He'd never been so hard and so
primed; yet the restraints on his organs kept him from
shooting off.
All the poor naked boy could do was feel the ache in his
balls, the "blue balls" he'd heard about, and grit his teeth
as this "ride" continued to excite and arouse him while
denying him the release he now ached for.
Chapter 1.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Taylor Holden was in
the Crosspoint County Juvenile Court before Judge Janice
Finch, his head down and this knees knocking.
At just 12 years old, he was faced with the awesome - to
him, any way - power of the justice system, and he was just
about scared out of his wits.
It had all been an accident. He was playing catch with a
friend on the way home from school (on the last day of
school yet!) when one of his throws went high and smashed
the window of an angry old lady.
Taylor's friend fled, leaving him to face the wrath of Mrs.
Anderson, who swore to police that Taylor was also the boy
that had broken another of her windows the previous week.
Crosspoint had just adopted the Naked Punishment protocol
for juvenile offenders, and Taylor was terrified that he
might be sentenced to that humiliating penance. His face
brightened when the judge made a suggestion.
"He does have no prior offenses on his record," she said,
flipping through his case file. "There is an alternative
corrections program for less egregious offenders."
"We would like to hear about that, Your Honor," said Maggie
Holden, Taylor's mother. His father, Roger, nodded.
"Well," said the judge, closing the file and looking at
Taylor, "instead of the Naked Punishment, we could assign
him to the County Juvenile Milk Farm. He'd be working with
other minor offenders there, learning about the dairy
industry and getting lots of outdoor exercise. I think the
appropriate term would be . . . 30 days."
Taylor's stomach churned. One month of the summer on some
smelly old cow farm, hauling hay? Still, it sounded better
than some of the public and painful punishments that other
boys (and some girls) in town had undergone recently.
"What do you think, Taylor?" asked the judge, not unkindly.
"One month on the farm or one month in the 'other' program?"
After another moment, Taylor nodded his head. "The farm,
ma'm."
"Excellent," said the judge. "So ordered. Next case!"
Chapter 2.
The county milk farm was quite a distance from town, which
suited Taylor fine. The fewer people who knew that he was
incarcerated the better he liked it. A half-dozen boys,
ranging in age from 7 to 14, rode on the bus with him for
the 45 minutes it took to arrive at the isolated facility.
Taylor was a little worried about what lay in front of him.
He was about 5-foot, 6-inches tall, and 125 lbs, with brown
hair and eyes; not a big or imposing physical specimen by
any stretch. Would the bigger boys give him a difficult
time? Little did he know that he would soon have other, more
pressing concerns.
When the bus arrived at the farm, it looked much more like a
real agricultural concern than a house of corrections. There
were no fences, no guard towers, indeed, no obviously armed
guards. The boys were herded into a room with one
"instructor" who was male, but a quick glance around the
grounds showed that almost half of the staff was female. All
the employees were dressed in the same uniform of khaki
shorts and matching short-sleeved shirts.
The boys sat expectantly around a table, silent and scared,
until their instructor spoke.
"My name is Bob Shaw," he began. "Mister Shaw to you. This
orientation is important to your successful completion of
the program; if you don't learn and follow all our
procedures you can be reassigned to That Other Program, if
you know what I mean."
A silent current of dread ran through the boys. Although the
Naked Punishment program was fairly new in Crosspoint, all
the boys knew other youths who had been stripped naked in
public, forced to masturbate, been spanked on their bottoms
and even their balls, and other painful and shameful
humiliations before the town. They certainly didn't want to
go into That Other Program, and their attention became
keenly focused.
"First rule is that you will be naked at all times. That
much we have in common with the alternative. The weather is
fine; you shouldn't suffer too much from exposure. Second
rule is that you must follow all requirements for your
safety and health; we are especially fussy about your diet
and the supplements that are part of your meals.
"Third, this is a working milk farm, not a summer camp. You
will be expected to participate whole-heartedly in the work
of this facility. The revenue generated by this concern
helps defray the cost of your stay here and makes this
alternative possible.
"Fourth, there are a lot of other rules which you'll be
exposed to soon; pay close attention. And fifth, any
instructor can create a new rule on the spot to cope with a
unique situation."
He paused and gave the group a menacing smile. "Violations
of these rules or disrespect or disobedience to staff here
will be dealt with severely. You may not get transferred to
That Other Program, but when we're through with you, you may
wish you had been."
Mister Shaw stood and slapped his hands sharply together.
"OK, time to enforce the first rule. Let's see you get bare-
ass naked, boys; you have 30 seconds."
The boys quickly fumbled out of their clothes and were
naked, all except for one awkward lad of 10 who fell over
when his legs tangled in his pants.
"Sorry," he said meekly.
The instructor shook his head and grabbed the boy, pushing
him face-down on the table. "The rest of you, pull his pants
off. Now you and you and you and you; hold his hands down
and grab his ankles; no, spread his legs wider . . . wider,
I said."
When poor clumsy Tony was splayed wide, with his pink-brown
anus exposed to the group, the instructor said "Sorry
doesn't cut it, sonny."
He pulled from his back pocket a leather strap, which he
raised over his head. "Rules violation, 10 strokes on the
butt. Smart-ass remark: five right on the tailhole," he
said.
With that, Mister Shaw gave Tony 10 powerful slaps on his
firm, rounded fifth-grade buns, then another five right on
his well-spread, supersensitive asshole. Tony cried by the
eighth bun-swat, but screamed bloody murder when his bung
was punished so sharply.
When it was over, the group was silent except for the
sniffling of poor Tony, whose assglobes and the secret hole
between them were smarting powerfully.
"Dinner in 10 minutes, then over to your bunks for lights
out. Tomorrow will be a busy day," said Mister Shaw, "so we
like to give boys extra rest their first day here."
Chapter 3
Dinner was surprisingly good; a choice of chicken or
hamburgers, with salad and corn and bread. The only thing
that struck Taylor as a little odd - other than the fact
that 100 preteen and teenage boys were eating their meal
totally naked - was the ritual of "supplements."
"Gotta keep you little hellions healthy while you are with
us," announced one of the farm supervisors. "At my command,
take up your red pill, and swallow it." When he was
satisfied that all the boys had done so, he repeated it the
ritual with a green pill and a blue pill.
What was the big deal about a bunch of vitamins, wondered
Taylor. So far, he concluded, the farm didn't look too
awful. He didn't exactly like being naked, but no one had
spanked him or done any of the other things that kids in the
regular Naked Punishment program had to undergo. As he fell
asleep that night in his bunk bed, he was thinking that he
was lucky to have landed in this program, instead of the
alternative.
The morning arrived early with a reveille call at 5:30 a.m.
By six a.m. the boys were all showered and naked, standing
at attention outside the bunkhouse in which they were
quartered. Their instructor, Mister Shaw, awaited them.
"Boys, we're going to go on a little tour today. To make the
experience more memorable, we're going to do it on
horseback. You-all being naked, we have to require certain,
uh, implements and devices to make sure you don't fall off
or get injured.
"First, each boy needs to be marked. My assistant here will
use that indelible marker to write your name on your back
and chest. Don't worry, it'll fade after about three months,
but there's no way you wash or scrub it off without taking
off five or six layers of skin."
The assistant - a disturbingly pretty young woman of about
20 - went around marking the boys, placing one hand on their
shoulders to steady her writing. The touch of the pretty
lady, along with their status as being buck naked around a
cute clothed woman gave all 12 boys boners. When she'd
marked the last one, she grinned. "They're all ready, Mister
Shaw. In more ways than one!"
The instructor smiled back. "It never fails, Miss Tomkins,"
he replied. "OK, boys, what's going to happen is that, one-
by-one, we're going to fit you onto your special saddles.
They are specially designed for our purposes. Additionally,
you'll be wearing some . . . devices . . . to protect your
precious privates from the bouncing and jouncing of
horseback riding. To keep any of you from getting any ideas
about taking that horse on a little escape, we will be
securing your hands behind you."
Miss Tomkins called the first rider, Ron Atkins. He was a
wiry 9-year-old with equally wiry black hair on his head,
but not a strand on his young, clean, naked body. She put a
stepladder next to the horse, and helped Ron climb up, which
he stopped in mid-move.
"There's a thingie in the saddle," he said.
"That's to help keep you from falling off," assured Miss
Tomkins. "Go ahead and sit on it." The boy did, and felt the
pressure of an inch-high bump - well-lubricated - against
his virgin anus. It actually felt kind of good, he thought
to himself.
The pretty assistant gathered his arms behind him and
secured them with fabric-lined handcuffs. "Hang on, Ron,"
she said, with a twinkle in her eye. "Here comes the fun
stuff."
She pressed a button on the saddle and the "bump" against
the fourth-grader's pink tailhole began to inflate and rise.
"Hey! This thing is going up my . . . butthole!" he cried
out.
Mister Shaw laughed. "That's what keeps you in the saddle;
four or five inches up your tight asses ought to keep you in
place. And there's more."
Ron's eyes grew big as he felt the inflatable phallus probe
and expand into his rectum; soon he felt stuffed. The
pressure of the device against his prostate and sensitive
asspuckers sent his already erect preteen cock into full,
throbbing hardness.
Miss Tomkins, once she was satisfied that the butt-raping
prong in the boys' behind was nice and tightly-wedged in,
took a cock-and-ball ring apparatus that fit tightly around
the base of the lad's twitching penis, and around his cute
little balls. The effect was to trap blood in the boner, and
to lift the balls away from the saddle, both for comfort and
display.
All the boys waiting to be "mounted" saw the grimace of
pain, discomfort and embarrassment on Ron's face. It was bad
enough being naked with a stiffy; to be trapped on top of a
horse's saddle with a thick ass-raping prong deep in one's
behind and with your penis and testicles cinched up was
horrible!
But after what had happened on the first day, none of the
boys protested or made a move to resist. In a few minutes
all 12 boys were astride their mounts, with their assholes
well-plundered and their preteen and teen cocks rock hard
and pointed at the sky.
The horses were all well-trained; at the signal from the
instructor, they began to trot away from the bunkhouse and
into the journey.
For Taylor, the effect was powerful. The phallus in his
tailhole was five inches long and thick; standing still it
made his 12-year-old cock stiff and twitching. But as the
horses began to move, the rubbing and bouncing of the device
in his rectum increased the stimulation, and he felt his
member get longer and more engorged with blood.
As the group trotted along, each boy felt each step of the
horse deep in his bottomhole and all through his teased cock
and balls. By the time they cleared the "campus" of
buildings of the farm, each boy was groaning inwardly with
the combination of stimulation, humiliation, discomfort and
frustration.
Gesturing to the unbroken horizon, Mister Shaw began his
"guided tour" of the facility from astride his horse.
"You may wonder why there are no gates or fences here. Well,
first off, we are miles and miles from the nearest house or
town. Naked and on foot, it'd take you all day just to find
a place to hide or get clothes, and we'd catch you by then.
And you wouldn't like the punishment we'd give you, I can
assure you of that.
"But we have another precaution. That red pill that you eat
every day contains an oil that gives off a scent that only
animals can detect. If you go hot-footing it out of the
compound, all the coyotes and wolves and bears and such that
live around here are gonna come-a running, 'cause to them
you'll smell like the juiciest steak in the world."
The boys were considering that when the instructor gave
another signal and the horses' pace quickened to a canter.
The effect on the poor lad's bottoms was immediate. Instead
of the jarring bumps of the trot, the canter meant longer
strides which made their naked, (mostly) hairless bodies
rise up an inch of two, and then come slamming down on the
phallus, jamming it deeply and powerfully up their
defenseless anuses.
Another effect was that as the black inflatable cocks
ravaged their holes, it made their pricks even harder and
their whole "package" of youthful balls and shaft bounced
and jiggled wildly - as wildly as they could within the
restraints of the rings they were wearing.
Some of the older boys were moaning with sexual need; some
of the younger boys were crying. Many of the lads were being
stimulated to the point of needing to shoot off a hot load
of their cum, but the rings would not permit that. So the
boiling semen in their expanding balls just churned
painfully in their increasingly fat and teased privates.
The next stop was from a rise above a cluster of other
buildings in the distance. "That's the girls' juvenile
farm," said Mister Shaw, with a gesture. 'They run a
different operation over there. But they're all naked, too.
Think of it, boys; hundreds of totally nude young girls,
elementary, junior high, high school. All of them fresh and
pink with their soft, high breasts, sweet nipples, tight
cunts and deep, hot assholes. Just over there, out of your
reach. Make you hot? It sure does me."
A low, feral groan rose from the boys. The mental image of
all those naked girls made them hornier and harder than
before. Some of the lads were actually panting; all of them
were aroused more than they ever had been in their lives.
The last leg of the tour was a gallop in and out of a series
of ravines, circling back to the main campus of the milk
farm. This faster pace not only meant sharper and deeper
impacts into their assholes, but the up-and-down motion of
the ride over hill and dip sent their cocks wagging back and
forth, and sometimes slapped their oversensitive balls
against the hard, hot leather of the saddle.
Taylor thought he would go mad. It was like being fucked in
the asshole by a horse; the fast, powerful thrusts up his
rectum sent sizzling, stimulating impulses through his 12-
year-old body; he was dizzy with sexual need, and sweating
from the exertion of the ride. His poor privates were bound
up in such a way as to increase his lust at the same time as
denying him any relief from it. When the buildings of the
farm hove into view he was thankful that the tour was almost
over.
Finally, the horses slowed to a walk, and a dozen stiff-
cocked boys and their mounts came into the compound, but
they passed by the bunkhouse. At last, the procession drew
to a halt alongside the milk barn.
Chapter 4.
With the help of Miss Tomkins and a stepladder, the boys
were all removed from the saddles and handcuffs and
cock/ball rings still in place led into the milk barn. As
they walked, their rock-hard penises bounced and their cum-
stuffed balls rolled entering what seemed to be an unusual
place for a bunch of super-horny teens and preteens,
But once inside they could see that their expectations were
all wrong. There were no cows! Instead, two facing rows of
chairs, each row lining a wall and attended by some strange
looking equipment.
Each seat was accompanied by an apparatus of restraints,
tubes and other devices whose use would soon be apparent.
Written on a piece of tape on the back of each seat was a
name: "Holden" appeared two seats from the end on the north
side. Something about seeing his name there sent a shiver of
fear through poor 12-year-old Taylor.
"Welcome to the milk barn, boys," said Mister Shaw. "Here is
where you earn your keep. As Miss Tomkins calls off your
name, you will accompany her to your post."
The first boy, a 10-year-old named George, a sandy-haired
youth sporting as all of them did a raging, jerking
boner was led to a chair, a plastic molded seat. His
cuffed hands were raised above his head, and the chains of
his manacles attached to a hook suspended from a horizontal
bar that ran the length of the room.
His legs were pulled wide, and his ankles secured to cuffs
and chains. The effect was to show off George's hairless but
throbbing sex tackle to the best advantage. Miss Tomkins
reached around behind the chair and pulled out a long, clear
plastic flexible tubing with an wider sleeve at the end,
inside of which was an articulated inner sleeve. She removed
George's cock and ball restraints and fit this device over
the boy's upthrust member, snugging it down to the base of
his penis.
Each of the youths were placed similarly. Although there
were 20 stations, only the 12 "new" boys were present then;
as they later learned, this introductory session would lack
some of the refinements of the "exercises" for more
experienced inmates.
So a dozen preteen and teenage boys sat there, arms
stretched above their heads, legs splayed, impossibly hard
cocks and swollen balls hooked up to some strange device,
the purpose of which only a few boys were beginning to
suspect.
"As you may have guessed, the only milking that takes place
here is of you filthy lads," said Mister Shaw. "You're going
to have every last drop of your cum sucked out of you, and
you're going to shoot off like you're never shot off before.
The outer sleeve attached to your disgusting penises created
a vacuum seal, which will make your cocks swell up larger
than ever; the lubricated inner sleeve will move up and down
on your boners, in effect, stroking and sucking you."
The boys looked bug-eyed at this news; they were going to be
"cows" for their hot male-milk? But why?
"For those of you who can shoot cum that is fertile, we sell
your semen to sperm banks all over the world. After a month
in here, you'll probably be fathering dozens of kids. If
your cum is infertile, we sell it to an Asian manufacturer
of skin moisturizers who prize it very highly. And if you
don't shoot at all, we still make money off you; we
videotape everything here and sell the tapes both to
legitimate sex researchers and . . . uh . . . other
interested parties. Since you all chose the milk farm over
That Other Program, you are all technically volunteers," he
said.
At a signal, Miss Tomkins flipped a switch on the control
panel mounted on one of the walls, and a humming sound was
heard. The boys began to murmur, then gasp, as a hole opened
in the seat of their chairs and a gleaming dildo began to
rise upward, pressing against their already-sore assholes.
"We find that boys shoot off more when they have their
anuses stimulated," said Mister Shaw. "With our equipment,
we can drill right up your assholes, and even" - now another
switch was flipped - "fuck you senseless." The dildos turned
into vibrators, humming away deep in the raped rectums of a
dozen naked, highly aroused young boys.
"And now the last piece of the puzzle," he said. Another
switch, and a hissing sound issued forth. All the air was
sucked out of the tube attached to each straining boycock,
and the inner sleeves began their relentless up-and-down
journey.
"Yell and scream as much so you like," said Mister Shaw.
"This whole place is insulated for sound, and your cries and
whimpers make for great video. And don't bother trying to
hold back; you'll each be here for 10 cums or two hours,
whichever happens first."
The boys had all entered the barn with stiff, straining
hard-ons created by the horseback anal stimulation and the
cock-and-ball rings. Imprisoned as they were, with a
vibrating long, thick invader in their tailholes and a wet,
tight "mouth" stroking their super-heated boners, it didn't
take long for the first "volunteer" to begin spouting off.
"OHMIGOD!" cried one 14-year-old boy, arching his back and
feeling his ass muscles clench frantically as his swollen
balls and aching prostate erupted with a thick wad of
boiling boy-milk. He wailed and shook as his cock pissed
squirt after fertile squirt into the teasing sleeve, which
quickly sucked his semen into a receptacle.
Across the barn, a 10-year-old boy was in the midst of what
seemed like a non-stop series of dry cums. "OH! OOH!
OHHH!!!! HELP ME! I CAN'T STOP! I CAN'T STOP!" he screamed
as the machines on his red little cock and in his pink-brown
little shitter raped one shattering orgasm after another
from him.
Taylor had just started shooting cum a few weeks before his
trouble with the law. After about two minutes of this
"milking" he felt his hairless balls rumble and his preteen
penis began to explode; the vibration in his asshole, the
stroking of his member, and the teased condition of his
organs soon pushed him over the edge, and he was screaming
out the most powerful, intense orgasm of his life. His body
shook and trembled as it writhed and his overstimulated
penis squirted thick, slippery loads of his juices into the
sleeve.
His cock stayed hard, and to his surprise, it wasn't another
two minutes before he was rising again in his fetters,
feeling that wonderful/terrible sensation of having an
orgasm raped from him. His body went taut, and he trembled
and moaned as spurt after spurt of his preteen essence flew
hotly from the dark red tip of his very hard penis.
The dozen boys remained there for the full two hours; the
machines made a count of the number of orgasms each boy had,
and they automatically shut off when that number was
reached; otherwise, each lad was violated and molested until
the full 120 minutes was up.
One prodigious preteen boy of about eight was so orgasmic
that his body raced through 16 climaxes before the machine
could calculate them and turn off his unit. The older boys,
with their nearly man-sized balls and cocks, shot copious
amounts of sperm, but after their fifth or six ejaculation,
the cums came fewer and far between.
Still, when the two hours was up only two boys hadn't
climaxed at least 10 times; and they were both at nine when
the time expired. Finally, sweat-drenched and with aching
cocks, hollow-feeling balls and well-ravished bottoms, the
boys were released and led meekly back to their bunks for a
two-hour rest. Almost all of the lads fell asleep quickly,
even though several of them still sported cocks that tilted
upward at an alarmingly impudent angle.
Chapter 5.
After their rest, the boys were given a chance to take a
shower, then were fed a hearty meal. Two hours of light work
- raking and mowing and such - were followed by a chance to
play sports for two hours, all naked of course.
Some of the boys whispered amongst themselves about how
their bodies felt. "Man, I squirted off 10 times this
morning and my dick is still hard as a rock," said one 13-
year-old. "It seems really weird."
"I'll bet it's something in those pills they give us,"
Taylor opined. An older boy who'd been at the milk farm for
two weeks clued them in. "One of the pills is some kind of
special manmade hormone that makes your balls cook up a lot
more cum," he confided, "and the other one is one of those
'virility' pills that old people take so they can have a
boner all weekend long."
The new boys considered that for a moment. "That means,"
concluded Taylor, "that each day we're gonna have harder and
bigger boners and shoot more and more cum!" The older boy
nodded. "You think 10 cums a day is a lot? Just wait!"
It was true; as the effects of the "supplements" accumulated
- combined with the stimulation they were getting - the boys
become more virile. Cock-milking sessions barely made a dent
in their boners; most of the boys went around all day with
bobbing, leaking purple-pink erections.
There were, of course, incidents. Two boys got into a fight,
and they were both punished by being put in the pillory;
their hands and head through the wooden frame as they
kneeled on the dusty ground in the middle of the farm. Any
"guest" in good standing could inflict a humiliation on the
two offenders as long as they did no permanent damage or
left a scar.
The helpless boys had carrots - complete with leafy tails -
stuffed in their rectums, and some of the more verbal boys
took those indelible markers and wrote nasty messages on the
prisoners' bodies. One that produced a lot of laughs was the
legend "I love to be fucked right here!" with an arrow
trailing down to between the lads' buttocks.
Both boys had a little public hair growing, so one clever
prankster found some duct tape, and he covered the strands
with the sticky material. With a flourish he ripped the tape
off, as the boys howled.
"Hey, just think of it as a bikini wax!" said Miss Tomkins,
as she finished giggling.
Another favorite of the instructors was to punish boys with
the "ice treatment." They used plastic molds to create cock-
shaped ice phalluses of various sizes. A transgressing boy
might be trussed up naked in the enter of the camp, bent
over with an icy "cock" buried deep in his shivering rectum.
On a warm day, the devices melted fairly quickly, so the
instructors thought up a clever variation. They inserted a
wooden dowel into the mold, rubbed it thoroughly with the
"Icy Hot" pain reliever (which "burns" powerfully) and then
let the water freeze around it.
The effect was that as the ice melted, the fat, freezing
phallus buried in the lad's poor tailhole gave way to the
maddening shock of the chemical heat in his ass. Reacting
helplessly, the boy squeezed his assmuscles on the dowel,
which merely exacerbated the sensations.
Friday night was games night, and this time it was a "peg
race." Two long, narrow wooden benches were set up in the
middle of the camp, imbedded in each bench was a series of
progressively wider and longer wooden pegs that were
slathered with a baby oil as a lubricant.
The boys were divided up by ages, and pitted against each
other. The "horses" started at one end of each bench,
sitting down on a small peg of perhaps two inch-height and
one-inch diameter. At the sound of "Go!" the boys raced to
sink their tight rectums onto each peg, moving forward to
the finish line.
Of course, the pegs got longer and fatter. The youngest boys
only had to go halfway, but the older ones had to complete
the course, which ended with an eight-inch wooden dildo that
went deep into the boys' rectums and colons.
The winner of each heat went on to the next race; the losers
got 20 spanks with the leather strap if they finished the
course; 20 spanks on each buttock and five on the anus if
they failed to finish.
Taylor actually won his first heat, but was disqualified
when - as he settled down onto the final peg - the
stimulation caused his always-erect penis to sperm off,
something that happened to lots of the boys. The penalty for
that was three hand slaps on the boner.
The instructors had all kind of games. One night they
brought over from the girls' camp a beautiful nude 13-year-
old girl, who stood 10 feet from a line of boys. As the girl
teased them with erotic poses and remarks, the boys jacked
off, and tried to shoot their sperm as close to the girl as
possible. Anybody hitting her with his hot cum was a winner;
making a spurt of seven feet exempted you from the spankings
that the other contestants had to undergo who couldn't shoot
far enough.
For weeks, Taylor and his friends went through a haze of
forced ejaculations, teasing exercises and games, spankings
and farm work. It got to be just "another day" when they
were strapped into the milking machines and left there until
three hours expired, or they climaxed 15 times.
Chapter 6.
Although the sexual torments seemed to last forever, the 30
days did come to a close, finally. After hundreds of orgasms
had been raped from him, Taylor was a weary but grateful
"farmer" as his time ran out.
Sure, his cock was always stiff and sore, and his asshole
often felt numb from the many shaftings he had experienced,
but he could "see the light at the end of the tunnel." And
despite everything that had happened, at least he hadn't had
his humiliations and punishments put on display before the
whole community, as had happened to the children in the
regular Naked Punishment program.
Finally, the month was up, and "graduation day" arrived.
Mister Shaw told them there would be a "procession" as they
left, and they would be allowed to reclaim their clothes on
the bus before leaving to return to Crosspoint.
"Anyone not satisfactorily completing the procession will
not be graduating," he said, ominously.
As usual, the boys awoke with steel-hard erections and full
balls, the legacy of the "supplements" they had been
ingesting for the last month. After a breakfast in the mess
hall, they stood in line - boners wagging comically as they
shuffled forward, their stride made a little bow-legged by
plump cum-stuffed testicles - to have their final paperwork
processed.
It was 11 a.m. by the time they lined up for their last
ritual at the farm. At least they hoped it was their last!.
Standing between them and the open bus door was a gauntlet
of eight: four males and four females. The last two were
"repeat offenders" at the farm: one 14-year-old boy and one
13-year-old girl. The balance were farm "instructors."
Taylor Holden found himself nervously at the front of the
procession. The boy behind him pushed him forward, and the
last trial began.
The first male instructor spanked his now-callused ass with
a leather thong, five on each cheek. The female instructor
slapped his vertical rod three times.
The second set of instructors worked together; the man held
Taylor's asscheeks wide while the woman delivered five
stinging strikes with the thong against his tailhole.
The third pair stroked his cock and fingered his ass,
bringing him close to the edge of an orgasm. It was in
preparation for the final step, when he was made to kneel
before the 13-year-old girl and lick her splayed, shaved
pussy to a climax, while the boy crouched behind him and
threaded his virile teenage cock deep into Taylor's hot,
tight asshole.
It was the combination of the taste of the naked girl's
cunny and the sexy punishment of his rectum that made Taylor
- to his embarrassment - shoot off, just as the girl
climaxed and the boy flooded his rear entrance with hot
semen. Taylor was humiliated as he felt his rigid cock spew
out squirt after hot squirt of his seed onto the packed dirt
of the farm.
Finally, he was allowed to rise to his feet and climb onto
the bus. He wearily pulled on his clothes, but his prick
remained stiff as he couldn't help but watch what was being
done to his fellow inmates of the Crosspoint Milk Farm.
Epilogue
Taylor Holden was fully-dressed and looking forward to
returning to a normal life as a preteen boy in Crosspoint.
Hardly anyone knew he had been sent to the farm, and the
strange activities there were miles away from the nearest
prying eye.
His parents picked him up at the courthouse, and drove him
home, telling him how glad they were to have him home, and
how it looked like he had put on some muscle in the 30 days
he had been gone.
Mom and dad were kind and supportive, but there was
something in their voices and attitude that unnerved Taylor.
He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but . . .
Tired from his exertions, Taylor fell asleep early and awoke
the next morning, which happened to be a Saturday. When he
walked into the kitchen for his breakfast, his parents
stopped their conversation and looked a little embarrassed.
"Uh, Taylor," began his father, "after you went to the farm,
there were a few changes made in the procedures. It was, uh,
decided that as a deterrent to other kids, the activities of
the farm would . . . well, hell, look for yourself."
His dad stepped aside to reveal the screen of a laptop
computer, which was displaying still photographs from . . .
Crosspoint. To his horror, the screen was filled with a
graphic shot of him arching his back and gritting his teeth
as his 12-year-old cock spewed a thick, long stream of semen
into the milking machine.
"Ohmigod!" cried Taylor. "You mean this is on a website that
anybody can just . . . look at?"
"They, uh, advertised the URL on the local TV news last
night, and it's on the front page of this morning's paper,"
said his mother. "And I'm afraid that's not all the judge
decided while you were gone."
She placed three colorful pills on the table next to his
bowl of cereal. "You'll be taking these every morning,
Taylor. Every morning for a long time."
THE END