Farmlife

A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance, its cry swallowed by the vast, open fields stretching beneath a pale morning sky. The barn, standing stubbornly at the heart of this rural expanse, bore the marks of time and hard labor. Its once-red paint had long faded, peeling away to reveal the weathered wood beneath. The air inside was thick with the smell of earth, hay, and something faintly sour that lingered in the corners like an unspoken truth.

Inside, the low grumble of machinery filled the barn, its uneven hum echoing off the walls. The equipment was old—too old, really—and the overseer, Tom, knew it. But out here, miles away from the glittering city of Mammopolis, new technology was a luxury they couldn’t afford. Tom muttered under his breath as he checked the pumps, his rough hands moving with the practiced efficiency of a man who had made his peace with the daily grind, though not without a few bitter thoughts.

The Dairy Queens were already in their stalls, preparing for the day’s work. Their positions were as familiar to them as their own skin, a part of the routine they no longer questioned. The stalls were basic—wooden frames fitted with leather harnesses, a far cry from the sleek, automated systems in the city dairies. But this wasn’t the city, and these women were no longer part of that world.

Nellie was first in line. Her Scandinavian roots were apparent in her broad, sturdy frame, her skin a pale canvas of delicate veins beneath the tight stretch of overgrown flesh. She had the body of a woman built for heavy labor—broad shoulders, a wide waist—but it was her breasts that dominated her frame, hanging impossibly large and low, almost comically so if not for the grim reality of why.

Once, she had worked in a prestigious human dairy facility in Mammopolis, a place where her overdeveloped body had been an asset rather than a burden. Her breasts, enormous and heavy, had been admired and envied, a symbol of her status in the industry. But that was before the incident—a mishap with one of the machines that left her unable to keep up with the city’s demanding quotas. They had let her go, and with her reputation tarnished, finding another job in the city had been impossible. There weren’t many options for a woman whose body had been engineered for one purpose, and so she had ended up here, in the countryside, far from the life she had known.

Now, as she settled into her harness, the leather straps biting into her skin, she let out a small grunt, the weight of her breasts pulling her forward. The old mechanism groaned in response, creaking under the strain, but it held. It always did, though just barely. Her eyes, once bright with ambition, were now dulled by the endless repetition of her new life, but she kept her head held high, refusing to let the farm break her completely.

Next to her, Tasha, a striking African woman with dark, radiant skin and eyes that seemed to hold a thousand unsaid words. Her physique was just as exaggerated as Nellie’s, though her smaller stature made the grotesque proportions seem even more ****. She was adjusting her own harness, muttering curses under her breath as the buckle caught on her thick braid. Tasha carried her burden with a sharp defiance. She was quick with a joke, quicker with a comeback, and her dark eyes always held a spark of rebellion, even if it was only a small one. “Hey Tom, are those the new machines you keep talking about?” she called out, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

Tom didn’t answer, just grunted in her direction as he checked the pumps. He was making a living off this rundown piece of shit farm, where everything seemed to be falling apart. He sure as shit wasn’t about to sink a dime into it as long as the big corporations kept buying his milk without asking questions. His focus remained on strapping Maria into her harness, his eyes flicking to the old clock on the wall, its hands jerking forward with each second, as if even time was tired of this place.

Maria, a Latina with curves that once had men falling at her feet, was a shadow of her old self. Now, her breasts dominated her small frame, her once enviable body transformed by the modifications that increased her milk production. Maria had come to the farm under different circumstances—a single mother with no other way to provide for her child. The overseer had taken her in, and though the work was brutal, it kept her daughter fed. She had little choice but to endure.

The barn was filled with other Dairy Queens, women who had found themselves in similar situations, but Nellie, Tasha, and Maria had formed a small, unspoken bond, a quiet understanding that they were in this together, for better or worse.

Tom’s sons, Maxim and Morris, were trouble in the form of flesh and bone. At 18 and 20, they had grown into young men, but mentally, they were still boys—immature, selfish, and constantly looking for amusement at others' expense. The Dairy Queens were their favorite targets, especially since the women were restrained, overdeveloped, and unable to fend off their advances.

Nellie, strapped into her harness, could hear the boys approaching long before they reached her. Their laughter, the heavy thud of their boots, and the way they jostled each other with juvenile glee filled her with a familiar dread. She knew what was coming, and her body tensed in anticipation, though she tried to mentally prepare herself for the ordeal.

“Morning, Nellie,” Maxim called out, his voice dripping with false cheer. His eyes locked onto her breasts, heavy and full from the morning milking. He didn’t wait for a response; he never did. Instead, he walked right up to her, hands outstretched as if greeting an old friend, but his intentions were far from friendly.

He unbuckled the strap holding her right breast in place, and the weight of it pulled free, making her gasp involuntarily. Maxim grinned, his hands immediately cupping her exposed flesh, his fingers digging into the soft, sensitive skin. He was rough, his touch neither gentle nor considerate, as if her body was a toy for his amusement.

Nellie bit her lip, trying to suppress the sensations coursing through her. She hated herself for it, but the friction of Maxim’s rough palms against her tender breast was awakening something unwanted deep inside her. She felt a flush of heat rising to her cheeks, and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to block it out, to disconnect her mind from her betraying body.

Maxim's thumbs brushed over her nipple, and she had to stifle a moan. Her body was responding against her will, the sensitivity from hours of milking making her more susceptible to his touch. She could feel the blood rushing to her nipples, the buds hardening despite her revulsion, and a sick feeling of shame curled in her stomach.

Morris, eager as ever, moved to her other side, fumbling with the strap holding her left breast in place. When it finally came undone, her breast tumbled out, and Morris let out a low whistle of appreciation. He immediately pressed himself against her, his erection straining through his pants as he ground against her exposed flesh.

Nellie’s breath hitched as she felt the firm length of Morris's cock rubbing against her. She could tell through his pants that he was impressively endowed, his girth pressing into the softness of her breast with each thrust. She tried to ignore it, tried to will her body not to respond, but the friction was impossible to ignore.

Maxim, not wanting to be outdone, adjusted his own position, pressing the hard bulge in his pants against her other breast. He was just as well-endowed as his brother, and the weight of his cock felt like a brand against her skin. He started grinding against her with slow, deliberate thrusts, his hands still groping her breast with increasing ****.

Nellie was trapped between them, their bodies sandwiching her as they humped her breasts in a slow, relentless rhythm. Each thrust sent jolts of sensation through her, and she could feel herself growing damp with a mix of fear, humiliation, and unwanted arousal. She clenched her fists, trying to maintain control, but it was slipping with each passing moment.

Maxim’s hands grew more aggressive, his fingers pinching and twisting her nipple as he pressed harder against her breast. She could feel him throbbing against her, his breath hot and heavy on her skin. On the other side, Morris was just as eager, his hands clutching her other breast as he thrust himself against her with a **** need.

Nellie’s heart raced, her body betraying her as the boys continued their ****. She could feel herself growing wet, the unwanted pleasure mixing with the pain of their rough handling. It was a sick, twisted game they played, and she was caught in the middle, her body responding despite the horror in her mind.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the boys finished. Maxim grunted in satisfaction, giving her breast one last, rough squeeze before stepping back. Morris lingered for a moment, his grip tightening on her flesh, before he too pulled away, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

“Thanks, Nellie,” Maxim said with a smirk, as if she had willingly participated in their twisted game. He casually buckled her back into the harness, securing her breasts once more as if nothing had happened. Morris zipped up his pants, chuckling under his breath as he followed his brother, already looking for their next bit of fun.

Nellie stood there, her body trembling, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She felt a deep, burning shame at how her body had responded to their ****. But out here, in this desolate place, there was no escape. She was trapped, both physically and emotionally, by the cruel dynamics of the farm and the twisted pleasure her body had betrayed her with.

As the boys moved on, their laughter echoing through the barn, the other Dairy Queens returned to their work, the rhythmic sound of the pumps filling the air once again. But the memory of what had just happened lingered in Nellie’s mind, a reminder of her helplessness, her confusion, and the bitter, twisted reality of her existence.