dirtyyoungman:

She pulled against the steel pressing against her flesh, but as always it was no use. The machine in front of her clicked to life, and she groaned.

Every morning, and ever evening, the routine was the same. The farmhands brought her to the stable from wherever they happened to have her, and secured her to the stand. As humiliating and uncomfortable as it was to be held immobile with her tits hanging down and no way to cover herself, the worst part of the routine was when he turned on the milking machine and attached the cups to her nipples.

The machine was relentless. It didn’t care that it was hurting her. It didn’t even care that, despite weeks of attempts and all the hormones they were mixing into her food, the machine had yet to extract any milk from her. It just keep working on her sore, raw nipples, an hour at a time.

He gave her tit a gentle, appraising squeeze. “They’re filling out more and more each day. Let’s give it two hours this morning and see what happens.”

She cried out in despair, but he ignored her and simply turned and left the stable. She was left alone with the unceasing torture on her nipples, and the oppressive sounds of the machine – and, of course, those of the machines working on the tits of the other girls held in the stable.