A Report from the Futa Farm

I let Vayda give me a variation of the speech she gives to me or Laura every single shift.

"I'm so sorry I'm such a bitch to you, Matt," she says. "I love you. I trust you. I really do. I'm so grateful. I know you take good care of me."

I give her a friendly pat on her arm. When the NeuTrex is on, explicitly-sexual contact is a terrible tease. "I love you, too, Vayda," I tell her. "Laura does too."

"If I'm good today," she says, "and I get to make love to Laura... you can, you know, make love to me at the same time."

I chuckle a little. "Thank you Vayda," I say. "I may just take you up on that offer. But you know, you can say 'fuck.' We won't get mad. Sex with you is wonderful just the way it is. We love our post-shift time with you."

I let the subject drop. Even talking about sex is a painful tease for a futa wearing a NeuTrex. It was a real effort for Vadya to give me permission to fuck her later -- or to fuck Vandy, if you like. I stay mindful of that. I appreciate it in more ways than one.

"I think I'm done, Matt," Vadya says. "I can keep it on in the shower, I think."

I shake my head. "There's no need, Vayda," I say. "We'll get most of you clean in a hurry, and then I'll remove it. I'm very good at my job, you know."

I give her a sly wink. She smiles.

"Okay, Matt," she says. "Thank you."

I let the toilet-butler -- you know, the one that's worth more than my life - finish its work. I only have to dab-dry Vayda with a synthetic cloth.

I help her up, and get her into the shower. The shower's worth about three of my lives.

Laura comes in with a pre-lubricated dildo-feeder; this one has an attachment to help me expel the fluid with greater force. She sets it near to me so I have ready access. I attach Vayda's restraints to the shower's rig. I keep my word and give Vayda an efficient, thorough cleaning. Her legs and feet are a priority, because those are what can do a lot of damage quickly once she's her old stallion self again. The restraints come off one by one, then back on again once I've cleaned under them. I do the same for her arms, then her neck. I wash her short hair. The shower will have it dry before we're out.

Save for removing and replacing the restraints, the shower actually does most of the work. When the washing is done and the drying begins, I pat Vayda's back reassuringly, then lift her heavy cock up to the embedded breeding hole. She cooperates fully, even though it does nothing for her.

Laura comes in again with one of Vayda's custom-fitted auto-milker harnesses. We attach it to our cow's large udders and turn it on. She winces, but the discomfort passes. She's not feeling any sexual pleasure from it right now, but she does feel some relief. She's already produced enough new milk to notice the difference when it starts squirting out in the first jar.

It's a telltale sign of a problematic futanari when they produce milk absent any of the usual instigators. Most of the futanari out in normal society -- well, the childless ones, anyway -- don't. Vadanshi's been producing virtually nonstop for decades. She's sired children, but never borne one. She'd never have the patience to properly nurse one.

"Okay, Vayda," I say.

She knows what it means.

"Bye, Matt," she replies. "Bye, Laura."

That always breaks my heart a little.

I remove both the SofTex and the NeuTrex. I watch the change. A male or female would need ten minutes. Vadanshi slips away in less than five. Then, Vandy is gripping the embedded handrails. She starts thrusting.

She fucks the ever-loving shit of her breeding hole. If we were in an old-world apartment, it would be falling apart all around us.

I wait for the dirty talk to start. I'm not entirely sure how aware she is during these breedings-cum-milkings - pun intended. I think she avoids 'fantasizing' about us as a manipulation tactic. It doesn't work, at all.

"That's right, Darryl," she mutters, "you act like you're such a fucking bull, but I know what Sonja does to you. I do it better. That's right. I do it better than your chinky little roided-out wannabe fucking-"

I take the dildo-feeder and slide it firmly into Vandy's ass.

"Language," Laura says disapprovingly from outside the shower.

Vandy growls. Again, she doesn't hate the physical sensations. It's all psychological.

"Oh, you fucking bitch," she says -- to me, ostensibly. "Dirty little bitch. Sneak-fuck. Butt bandit."

I start fucking her in earnest. Tellingly, she does most of the work just by continuing to fuck her breeding hole. Together, we silently find a technique and a rhythm that stimulates her massive, swollen prostate. The first jar attached to her auto-milker is filling up nicely in the meantime.

At regular intervals, I squeeze the solution deep into her bowels. Again, it's barely enough to curb the worst of her dominant behavior. It cuts the racial slurs down by eighty percent, I'd say.

In only a few more minutes, Vandy roars out her triumph over her fantasy. Her ass squeezes the dildo so hard I can barely push any more fluid through it until she's done. There's no need for us to check the holoscreens for the exact numbers; I prefer the end-of-day report. Clearly it was another massive load of futa-cum, delivered at high velocity. It'll travel through all manner of mystery tubes for analysis and processing; that's another department.

Most farmers these days are through-and-through scientists, working in labs and greenhouses, interacting with machines and computers far more than with organic matter. Strange as it is to say, people like my wife and me are something of a throwback.

Laura remains a paragon of competence. When I withdraw the dildo-feeder, the giant anal plug is lubed and waiting. I slide it in before Vandy's deflating futa-cock is even out of the hole.

She grunts, but she doesn't call me a honky or a cracker or anything. I know that's not a fair comparison. The Coastal Alliance is wonderful these days, but history is what it is.

I rub Vandy's back, then kiss it lovingly. "I'm proud of you, Vandy," I say. "We got you all cleaned up, and you gave us a nice, big load of your wonderful futa-cum -- and you took my cum deep inside of your ass without much of a fuss."

I can tell Vandy enjoys my touches and kisses. She doesn't enjoy the praise. It's fine; she doesn't have to. It's all part of the job.

"I'm hungry, Farmer Laura," Vandy says, pointedly ignoring me. She still sounds petulant, but her massive orgasm took the edge off.

Laura moves in and strokes her arm, then kisses it. That's the pattern; when Vandy obeys or produces -- or, ideally, both -- she gets petted and kissed. We want her to associate our touches with pleasure.

"Milk or solid food, first, Vandy?" Laura asks.

Vandy stares at my wife and licks her lips. She sees that Laura's breasts might have a little to give.

"Milk," she says.

I put the SofTex on Vandy's cock, and my wife and I do that farmer dance we do: restraints unlinked, cow moved, restraints linked again. The collar and ceiling-leash always stay on.

Laura's glistening nipples are enough to keep Vandy cooperative. We get her into her nursing station -- which is, of course, also a milking station -- back in the bedroom. Laura gets settled in to her comfy chair. Vandy's on her side, fully supported by the most expensive and comfortable cushions in the country. She might as well be back in the womb. I maneuver her mouth to the first nipple.

She suckles, and Laura slips into a sexual haze. It's not a full-on futa haze, of course, but she's definitely going to cum multiple times. Once Vandy starts nursing, I slide her flaccid cock into the bedroom's freshly-cleaned milking sheath. Then I reattach the testicular stimulators. Vandy will be getting quite the prostate massage very soon, and we want to make sure her balls are draining proportionately.

I go to the kitchen and fetch a couple of cold dildo-feeders from the fridge, and triple-check that they're full of Laura's milk. I return and place them near my wife, who's thoroughly enjoying herself. She's the shore, and Vandy's suckling is the tide. Arousal and orgasm gently, rhythmically swap places, over and over. I get back into position near Vandy's plugged rear hole.

Vandy stops suckling long enough to make another request. "Laura should drink some milk," she says. She goes back to Laura's first nipple, but her eyes stay open. She isn't nursing. She's teasing.

I sigh, get up again, and call up a holoscreen. I put in the tentative request. It comes back green. It always does. Vandy's an incredible producer. Keeping her reasonably-happy by fulfilling silly little requests like this is the obvious play.

"Laura, honey," I say, "do you want some of Vandy's milk?"

I give my beautiful wife all the credit in the world. She's wise to Vandy's bullshit. She shakes off enough of her sensual, sexual reverie to stare down at our cow's searching, manipulative eyes.

"If she promises to be really good today," she says, just like a schoolmarm.

"What does that mean?" Vandy asks suspiciously.

Laura's blue eyes stare her down. "It means you're going to take Farmer Matt's arm all the way up inside you for a proper, old-fashioned prostate massage," Laura says. "You're also going to have some of his natural cum after breakfast."

I see Vandy's nostrils flare. I hear the grunt. She's so prideful and stubborn. She loves anal stimulation. Prostate massages make her orgasms twice as long and three times as pleasurable; there's data to prove it.

As far as the cock sucking goes, well... Laura's pushing. That's what farmers have to do. Vandy likes my cum just fine. Modern medicine has made everybody's sex juices taste great, unless by some unhappy coincidence one happens to dislike the bouquet a partner chose for themselves. If there's a real future between two people -- even just a sexual one - they can always change flavors.

Anyway, for all that, stubborn Vandy would prefer that everybody think she's a pure top. A rectal massager is bad, and another person's arm or cock is worse.

"I'll be good," Vandy pouts. "Drink my milk."

I get a replacement jar for Vandy's auto-milker harness and make the swap. I hand the mostly-full jar to Laura. She puts on a little show for Vandy while I prepare things by our cow's plugged anus.

"Mmmmm," she says, taking a sip. "That is rich and creamy, Vandy. I can tell it's very nutritious."

Vandy's not satisfied yet. Laura takes a big swig, and gets messy with it. She licks her lips, wipes her mouth, and then licks her fingers too. She could be in a holo ad.

"Delicious," she says. "Top quality, even after all these years. Vandy, does it excite you knowing how many people out there in the Coastal Alliance want to drink your milk? Don't you want to give them so much?"

"I don't get to fuck them," Vandy pouts. "If they want my milk, they should get bred. It's not fair. They'd love it. You'd love it. Why can't I just fuck everyone?"

Laura strokes her hair and caresses her face. "If you're good, you get to fuck me," she reminds our cow, "and I just drank some of your milk because you wanted me to -- and you didn't ask very nicely, either. Who's being unfair, Vandy?"

Vandy doesn't answer. She's pissed that the milk didn't send Laura into the futa-haze. Learning is an issue with futa cows, especially when the facts demand that they second-guess their sexual instincts.

Laura gives me the nod. I reposition our cow's mouth to Laura's other nipple. Vandy sighs, but she suckles. Laura sets down the jar and prepares for another warm, gentle tide of orgasms.

I attach a tube to Vandy's anal plug and trigger the draining process. She's absorbed most of the solution already, but it never hurts to be safe. After that, I lube up my arm. I withdraw the plug.

I slide my arm into Vandy's rectum. She grunts again, but she doesn't buck or bite. Laura only has to endure a moment of extra-forceful suction. Vandy keeps the first part of her promise. That's a victory.

Laura and I know to take our time with milkings like this one. Vandy's in a highly submissive position, so it's a great way to keep ourselves dominant while we extract lots of her futa-cum. The cock sheath requires that her SofTex stay on, but it provides masterful stimulation to her organ, which is probably thirty centimeters when flaccid. That's another reason why some futanari do better on a farm. Creative clothing and a SofTex can only do so much. Some cocks are just plain unwieldy.

The first generation of hardcore body-modders learned that the hard way. Things calmed down after that, but, well, futanari had already been created. I love Vadanshi more than anyone besides my wife, but I can step back and ask the tough questions.

I usually don't, though, because there's either work to do or fun to be had.

I begin the massage. Vandy's large, prominent internal organs and glands make it easy, but I don't discount my own talent and experience. The special lube on my arm and hand -- which is a direct result of research on futa-cum -- allows me to get deep inside Vandy quickly, and with minimal effort. It makes her sphincter muscles warm and pliable. Instead of crushing me, they rhythmically massage me. Futa asses can naturally tolerate futa-cocks, but they still make them earn entry. My arm and hand are bigger and more insistent, but not by much.

Vandy pretends she hates what I'm doing to her, but I can tell -- and feel -- that she's a big fat faker. She enjoys both the internal milking and the fucking motions. I'm able to massage her prostate and other glands like they're sore muscles on a well-developed back. Every once in awhile, Vandy's body completely betrays her, and she starts trying to fuck the cock sheath. That's my signal to amp up the speed and the intensity, giving her a truly satisfying orgasm before starting all over again.

"That's it, Vandy," I say, "take my fist. Take it up your ass. You love the way it feels when I fuck you with my arm. You love getting your prostate milked by an expert."

You have to keep pushing, always.

Laura's udders get drained completely before my arm and hand get sore. She switches to the dildo-feeders. Vandy doesn't like them as much, but she appreciates that they're cold. She likes a cold dildo of milk. I'd say, "who doesn't?" but most people in the CA still use cups and glasses at least most of the time.

To be fair, I use my wife's udders quite a lot. I get some of my milk warm. It's fantastic.

We finish up after Vandy drains the second dildo. I wash up in the bathroom, and then the two of us do our farmer dance again. We make our way to the kitchen, where Laura cooks us breakfast. Most days, Vandy tries to impale herself on her chair's attached rectal massager just to be a brat. Today, another stern look from Laura's blue eyes makes her behave. She slides down onto it gradually, and waits for her protein-heavy meal. It's synthetic meat and synthetic eggs, and it's allegedly even better than the real stuff. We wouldn't know firsthand.

I get the kitchen's various stimulators and extractors attached. Then I turn on some holovids.

Predictably, Vandy wants hardcore pornography. Today, like almost every other day we work with her, she chooses the most extreme black-on-white slavery, humiliation, and cuckolding porn available. It's another manipulation tactic, and it's just as pathetic as the last one.

Laura finishes cooking and serves up three hot plates. Vandy's is huge; ours are more reasonable. Vandy gets another dildo of the cum solution to drink. I choose a cold glass of Laura's milk today.

Laura drinks hot synthetic coffee; it's a favorite of hers. Her milk and her pussy juices both carry a hint of its aroma and flavor -- not because she drinks it so often, but because that was her choice. I've come to associate the smell and the taste with her - and with suckling on her udders, and with eating her pussy. Paradoxically, it soothes me and gets me hard at the same time.

For the first time today, my erection feels a little uncomfortable. It's been awhile since I've cum, and Laura's easily a dozen orgasms ahead of me. I shrug it off. The job is the job.

The two of us take turns feeding bites to Vandy, plus the occasional mouth-fucking so she can suck down some cum solution. When she's not chewing, sucking, or swallowing, Vandy complains about the very holovids she chose. It's nothing we haven't heard before.

"There aren't enough futas," she says.

"Well, there aren't very many futas, period," I remind her. "Pornography just isn't the big business it used to be, especially not in the CA. People's real lives have basically replaced it."

Vandy has no interest in my civics or history lessons. She just moves on to the next complaint. "It's always 'black' 'black' 'black,'" she says. "I'm not black; I'm brown. I'm a beautiful chocolaty brown. My gigantic brown futa-cock is beautiful."

"Yes it is," Laura agrees readily. "You know, though, Vandy, they don't call the white people 'peach' or 'cream' either. I think it's down to a convergence of history and poetry."

"Yeah, maybe," Vandy begrudgingly concedes.

Then it's the complaints about so many of the performers not having body hair. On the days when she wants to fuck me -- meaning that Laura's in the doghouse - she'll comment wistfully about the long hair on some of the female performers' heads. Today, she wants Laura, so she avoids mentioning it. Today, she focuses on how all the cocks are smaller than hers, but still occasionally bigger than mine. Then it's derisive commentary on the weak cum shots.

None of this comes as a surprise, or even hurts our feelings. Vandy's trying to reassert her dominance. We laugh about these things after work. We trade stories with the other farmers. The pornography Vandy makes Sonja and Daryll watch is simply vile. The two of them alternate between ignoring it, and masturbating to it right in front of her. Laura and I prefer trying to engage Vandy like a person, even though we know it's mostly futile.

I do the cleanup, minimal as it is. Laura removes Vandy's auto-milker and registers two jars -- one full, one half-full. They go in the kitchen's deposit chute, rather than in the fridge. While I retrieve the manual pumps and the lube, my wife strokes and kisses Vandy.

"You finished your breakfast and Farmer Matt's cum like a good girl, Vandy," she says. "Once Farmer Matt is done, we'll head to the living room so we can all digest."

"I wanna kiss you," Vandy says.

"No you don't," my wife responds immediately. "If you actually wanted to kiss me, you'd ask nicely."

I'm in the other room, but I can picture the flared nostrils and blazing brown eyes in my mind. I chuckle.

"Will you please kiss me for real, Farmer Laura?" Vandy asks reluctantly. "Like, on the mouth, and with tongue?"

"Tell you what, Vandy," Laura says, "let's get you set up in the living room, and if that goes smoothly then we can have a nice makeout session while Farmer Matt and I pump you manually for a while. I know you like that, too."

"Okay," Vandy says.

The next farmer dance goes just a little bit quicker and smoother than usual. I flash my wife an appreciative smile. She gives me a confident one back. She's great at her job, and it's just one more reason I love her so much.

The living room couch is large, and its rig is quite robust. The rectal massager can come up through multiple places; the sheath and stimulators have a cubby in the floor and plenty of extra tubing. The links for Vandy's restraints are forgiving as well. As long as she makes slow, peaceable movements, Vandy can both spread her legs wide and drape her arms along the couch's back. That lets us move in close for the manual pumping and the promised makeout session.

Vandy grunts when the pumps attach. It's barely a protest. Laura straddles her lap so that the two of them can kiss. I stay to one side, kissing our cow's flexed shoulder and rubbing her smooth leg. I'm pleasantly surprised when Vandy forgets to request more pornography on the big holoscreens. The room fills with the gentle, unobtrusive sounds of sexual machinery, plus the kissing noises. It's quite nice.