Kiss Nipple Farm Pt. 01

An expensive sports car turns up the gravel drive before one of the largest, most modern farms in the state. Green lawns and white fences line the long driveway in front. In distant fields beyond tidy red barns can be seen small forms grazing a bucolic hillside.

On the grassy front lawn at the main building, several tall, well-muscled young men toss a football, running very fast and laughing in their low voices. Their shirts are off, each one is broad-shouldered and handsome with six-pack abs.

The silver-haired man steps from his exotic car. Life has been good to him, at age 57 his craggy good looks and tailored suit denote a man of success, wealth, and power. His polished black shoes step purposefully up the path to the main entrance. He is met at the door by a smiling woman in a white lab smock with Nurse Reardon embroidered on the pocket.

"Good morning sir. Do you have an appointment?"

The confident man is not rushed, smiles, taking in the nurse's bountiful bustline, the buildings, the white fences, the barns and green fields.

"I have a friend," he says quietly, "Gerald Clark."

Understanding lights the nurse's eyes. "Ah. Then he's given you a code?"

The man nods pleasantly.

"I am Nurse Reardon. Please come with me."

The nurse leads him with graceful hips into a spacious office. When they are seated, the man notices how generous are the nurse's bosoms. An undone button of her lab smock reveals rich cleavage. Her face is also quite lovely, for someone not much younger than he.

The nurse removes a file folder from her desk. With a smile she says, "and your code is..."

"VT 7835," the man replies with an easy smile.

She refers to a sheet of paper in the folder. "Of course, Senator Broward. A pleasure to meet you, sir. Everyone will call you Ron here, for confidentiality. Will that be acceptable?"

He grins, the same wide, friendly expression seen so often on statewide television news. "My name is Ronald, so yes."

"Now, Ron, here is our deluxe menu." She slides a printed list across the desk. It's a list of services available at the Farm, and most would be shocked at the prices. Ron is not.

"Since this is your first visit, you would probably appreciate a brief tour?"

"I don't have a lot of time today. I'd like to make a selection now, if I may."

"Certainly. What interests you on our list of services?"

The man does not look at the list, which resembles a fancy restaurant menu. "My friend said you have a pregnant one. Marilee. Can I see her today?"

The nurse consults her computer. "Marilee is one of our most popular little cows, but yes, I penciled you in on Mr. Clark's suggestion, so she can be available. Shall I call her?"

The man nods. He hides the fact that his fingers tremble.

"Fine. I'll call her to meet you. Now we have the matter of some forms to sign." She places a sheaf of papers before him, holds out a pen. This he waves away, taking a glittering Rolex from his coat pocket.

The paperwork is extensive, but his friend had warned him not to be critical or ask questions. All a formality, his friend had said.

"Thank you," Nurse Reardon says at last, when his paperwork is signed, his form of payment provided. She walks him to the exit. "Please wait at your car. Marilee will meet you shortly. She will take you on your tour, but you may choose any girl you like. They are polite, well groomed, perfectly healthy young women who love to be with men. If you want more than a taste, ask them. Each little cow will communicate her own rules. No rough play or force is allowed, unless the little cow lets you know she likes that."

With a professional smile, the nurse turns to go. She will courier his package to the Farm's attorneys.

Alone, the powerful man has a moment of terrifying doubt. His colleague Jerry had told him of the feminine delights available on the Farm, and the story had made his head swim. It was his lifelong fantasy about beautiful, large-breasted, lactating young women. Now on the brink of experiencing it for himself, he feels an inner terror, stage fright, like a teenager taking off a girl's panties for the first time.

Ron had listened raptly to whispered stories his friend had related. "I know you are into your nursing fantasy, Ron my man, but she may be willing to do other things, such as mutual spanking. I've heard some girls let men use their vagina or ass. Some girls do not want their anus touched, but dick sex or spanking is okay. A few of the little cows allow only nursing while they are in their fertile period, because particular studs have been chosen for breeding them."

Standing beside his swoopy automobile, Ron sees in a green field the cluster of white tents Jerry had mentioned. Each has a long banner flowing from its central pole, different colors blown into sinuous form by the warm wind. And walking his way from that direction is the most lush feminine form he could imagine.

In spite of the senator's wealth and power, he experiences a sensation of vertigo, as though his every flaw and insecurity is magnified and on public view. A full-bodied woman, mother-naked, coming directly toward him.

As the woman draws closer, Ron sees that she is young and very pregnant. Her belly is big and her breasts flow over her big round tummy. Her pale body is a collision of large jiggling spheres. She is close enough now that he sees she is a redhead with a long ponytail. Soon he can see that her little Vee is shaved bare, a bald peach split by a prim vertical line that could belong to a child. But her body is all woman, and her dancing green eyes are anything but childlike. She reaches for his hand.

"Welcome, Ron. I am Marilee."

The tones of the girl's voice are so musical that for a moment Ron cannot speak. She is a lovely young redhead in late pregnancy, just prior to giving birth. Her large, purple-veined breasts show droplets of white on fat nipples. She regards the senator with intelligent eyes.

She smiles, not letting go of his hand. Her grip is soft and warm. He feels his dick twitch in his pants, and gets a surge of doubt. She is so close, her breasts so full and beautiful, to think that he might be able to touch and suck from them sends his brain into a whirl of vertigo. Although he has paid, he knows this is still an interview. She has not yet accepted him.

"Let me show you where to park your car." The girl turns away, her sumptuous backside as riveting to his gaze as her front. The long pony tail brushes her shapely bottom as her hips sway.

Ron fires up his powerful auto and follows Marilee's flowing walk behind the biggest barn. It's just as friend Jerry had described, being given a parking place is the first sign of acceptance. Exotic customer vehicles are kept from prying eyes.

The naked woman stands in the grass pointing him toward a line of parked cars beside the barn. He must be careful. He can scarcely force his eyes from the delectable creature but doesn't want to prang any expensive sheet metal.

She is waiting with a lovely smile as he steps out. "I'm sure you don't need this jacket," she says, helping him off with it. Her eyes dance in his face. "And these old things are simply barbaric," she laughs as she loosens the knot on his necktie Her pregnant belly brushes warm against him. Her removing his tie was a big signal, according to Jerry. So close now, he inhales her scent, earthy, honest, full of feminine allure and demure sexuality. He cannot keep his eyes from her flowing breasts as her arms lift to adjust his collar. Like soft footballs, they lie heavy over her round baby bump.

She turns toward the pavilion of distant tents. Ron falls in beside her, more comfortable now.

"Did your friend tell you anything about our Farm?"

"A little." He can't take his eyes from her mouth when she speaks.

"Well, when the Farm was first established, it was a business based on the work of a famous chemist. He had discovered certain genetic markers that create helpful traits in babies. Traits such as physical strength, longevity, intelligence, inventiveness, and compassion for others.

"The wonderful ladies who live on the Farm with me as little cows are here to continue that work. Some are descendants of the very first of our line. Lenore, whom you might meet, is third generation. Arlene, who works now in our business offices, is fourth. Arlene is my adoptive mother and my special mentor. Aphrodite is fifth generation, she's had nine children already. I was honored to be chosen to help create the seventh generation."

"But, you also sell milk."

She laughs, a sound of secret, feminine joy. She slips an arm through his. It brings her flowing warmth close. His mind reels to have this lush, naked sexpot walking beside him. A whisper in his mind tells him he'd give away everything he owns to be with her.

"Yes, all we little cows are milked every day in the Milking Center. The owners needed a way to support the important genetic work, and found that the little cows could be milked for profit. Everyone agreed. That is one of the ways we keep the place going." She gestures around them.

They walk between seven large barns plus some sheds and workshops, in addition to the main office building he was just in, which looks a like a modern hospital. Ahead of them is vast green rangeland and the pavilion of colorful tents.

"We can meet some of the girls, will that be okay?"

"Certainly," he says, although he's already made up his mind. This Venus, this Marilee creature with coppery hair and enormous, blue-veined breasts, is the girl he wants to spend his afternoon with.

Beside the nearest tent, Marilee calls out, "Knock knock, Alexa, can we come in?"

A soft voice within that Ron cannot make out. Marilee pulls aside the tent flap, steps through and motions Ron inside. Bending down brings his face close to her naked fanny. The girl is gorgeous. He has an urge to bite her rounded flesh.

On a sofa is a large-breasted young woman reading a magazine. She is also very pregnant, and balances her magazine on a smooth, bulging tummy. A warm smile lights her dark eyes. The tent is strewn with fancy tugs, and behind the big sofa can be seen a sumptuous bed.

Marilee goes to the enchanting girl, they hug close, giggling at all the room their baby bumps take up. Four flowing mammaries slide together, jostling for space between their soft bodies. Ron is swept away in the heady vision, feeling stirrings in his underwear as two pregnant Venus-girls press together. He could watch this hug all day long. Jerry had said that sometimes two girls...

The dark-haired one looks at him with a sultry smile. "I am Alexa. I hope we can get acquainted sometime real soon." Her lilting voice puts slutty emphasis on acquainted.

Marilee laughs and punches Alexa playfully in the shoulder. "You wish! I saw him first."

Alexa pulls Marilee's face to her and the two share a long kiss, open-mouthed and wet. Ron's boner is definitely speaking to him. It hasn't always, these last few years. He needs the pills.

They leave Alexa and walk on, passing several tents around the circle. Marilee stops.

"Cheryl? You guys decent?" She listens carefully, turns to Ron. "We can peek in," the pale goddess-girl whispers, lips near his face, "but they are busy and we can't speak to them. Be super quiet."

Silently, Marilee pulls the drape aside. They peer together through the opening. The naked girl is so close Ron feels her warmth, can smell her, has a momentary rush of wrapping both arms around her rounded form.

Inside, the tent is as nicely-decorated as is Alexa's. On the settee sits a beautiful blond woman. She is not pregnant, but her breasts are bounteous woman-mammaries. A naked man rests his head in her lap, face buried in those full breasts, pulling sleepily at a firm nipple. The woman's eyes are closed, and serene rapture glows in her face. The mouth attached to her teat makes wet quiet sounds.

Marilee looks at Ron, and he at her, their faces close enough to fall into a kiss. He finds her mouth riveting. Her soft breasts warm him, droplets of moisture darken his shirt. She smiles, tilts her head toward the entranced naked couple. His lips curve upward and he nods. She pulls him outside and leads him away.

"It's beautiful, isn't it," she breathes, clasping his hand. Her eyes dance.

All Ron can do is shake his head in wonder. There's a lump in his throat. He's just seen his lifelong vision in the flesh. And such flesh!

Marilee takes him to another tent, and this time walks inside with no announcement. He steps in behind her smooth rump, and finds himself alone in a hushed private space with the sumptuous goddess.

Standing on a colorful Persian rug, she turns to him. Behind her he sees a comfortable couch and a king-size bed with fat cushions. Looking up at him, her irises are wide and black. She puts a hand on his arm. "Ron, spending this short time together... well, I have nice feelings, being around you." Her voice is breathy. She gazes up into his eyes, "I'd like it if we could get comfortable and talk a while."

"Please, yes, I'd like that."

Gazing deep into his eyes, Marilee takes his hand and places it on her breast. Ron's universe whirls. It's like the first time a girl in school ever did that, but a thousand times stronger. She gazes at him, mouth softly open. Here he is, with this pregnant young goddess in the secluded quiet of her private boudoir, and she's telling him she wants to hang out, with his hand on her swollen breast. Where she placed it, he's within reach of the russet aureole. His thumb strokes the grape-like nipple and her eyes fall closed. Her delicious shiver jiggles her breasts enticingly. A white droplet appears and she inhales deep. The movement causes her breasts to lift toward him. Ron notices his fingers still tremble. All this is very much like his friend's amazing story. But now, he's totally living it.

"You can hang your clothes over there." She points to a place in the corner.

"My clothes?"

Her smile is softly confidential. "So we can communicate skin to skin, you and I. When you are undressed, meet me outside."

"Marilee?"

"Yes?"

Would you mind... telling me how old you are?"

She laughs. "I am almost old enough to look down on rowdy teenagers as a separate species."

When he pokes his head cautiously out of the tent flap, he sees her, standing naked to the world under a warm shower spray in an open-air tent. Her bare flesh can be seen from anywhere in the compound, but there's no one around. Marilee's head is wrapped in a soft towel, she is soaping herself all over. White soapsuds flow over her glistening, rounded contours.

"Ron, over here, hon!"

In a daze, he walks toward her, covering his flaccid dink and glancing nervously about. There is no one to be seen, and his eyes can center on this vortex of lush feminine sensuality called Marilee that draws him powerfully to her.

Beside her in the warm spray, her dancing eyes and playful smile are all for him. Her small hands soap him everywhere. He strokes her slick breasts, nipples abuzz with play. His sex muscle throbs weakly. When his hands stray below the undercurve of her baby bulge, her dark look stops him.

"Please," she says, "I have a husband."

He mumbles an embarrassed apology. Shocked and disappointed, he gives himself a stern lecture. Of course she has a husband, you fool! She is a proper girl in a respected loving community, with a profession that men love. She is saying hands off, so get hold of yourself!

Her dark mood vanishes quickly, she turns him around and soaps his back. Her slippery hands do not stop when they reach his buttocks, stroking briskly through his crease, making sure he is clean all over. Nudging his shoulder, she turns him to face her. Small warm hands slick the soap down his chest, play in his navel, stray downward into his pubic hair and hold his penis, which is semi-hard for the first time in months. She cups his balls and looks at him.

"I am hoping you and I can have a nice long talk, Ron. You are a real man of the world and people respect you. I'll be proud to know you." The look she gives him says that talking is not what's on her mind.

Soon she is drying him in warm sunshine, he's looking down at the Venus-girl squatted at his feet, her lush curves enrage his senses. His member pulses vaguely, but he reminds himself that her sex is off limits. He's most riveted on her swollen breasts, the polished, leaking nipples.

She shakes out her hair, takes his hand and leads him into the quiet privacy of her seraglio.

"Come sit with me, Ron," she says, taking a seat on the comfortable sofa. Naked, he sits somewhat gingerly beside the nude Venus and she guides him with hands and smile to rest his head on her thighs. The warmth of her baby-belly inflames him. She turns his face toward her. Above him hang the fleshy orbs that have been the objects of his fevered desire all morning, scant inches from his lips. She looks down on him with a certain urgency.

"I need you Ron. Need you to help me. My breasts, the pressure. Ron, please..."

At the tip of each nipple, a pale whitish drop. Speechless, he says yes with his eyes. She leans forward. He lifts his mouth. The first drop to wet his lips is heady ecstasy. His sucking mouth gently surrounds her aureole. His first tentative pulls strengthen into powerful hungry sucking. He finds his rhythm, she exhales a long sigh of pent-up relief. Small warm hands enfold his head, as her ripe womanhood fills his mouth, becomes his universe.

"Oh, Ron," she sighs. "Milk me, dear Ron." Her eyes close and her head lolls back.

Later she walks him to his car. Both of them say little, lost in that dreamy state after such exotic, meaningful intimacy. He turns to face her.

"Marilee..." He can only shake his head.

She puts soft fingers over his mouth. "Shhh. Ron, "she whispers, looking at his love-struck eyes, "Ron, I know, my darling." She smiles, eyes all dreamy. "I can't wait for our next time."

"You said next week?"

"Yes, sweet man. Same time. I'll be waiting."

She kisses him soft on the cheek, turns to go. He will not let go of her hand. She turns back, eyes closing even as she presses her open mouth to his astonished lips. Her breasts are soft furnaces against his chest. They are not so full now. After all the breast-sucking intimacy, it's the first time she'd so much as kissed him. He has to piss like a racehorse, but doesn't want to break the moment.

"You won't forget me?"

"Not a chance," the powerful man tells the naked, pregnant little cow. "No way."

It's a week later when Senator Ron Broward drives his black sedan behind the barn and hops out quickly. Today he is wearing jeans and a plaid workshirt, more suitable for country life. He's had the most amazing week at the state legislature. His speeches were impassioned and convincing, he has a spring in his step his colleagues have not seen in fifteen years.

One evening, his wife of 35 years had asked him if he'd had his hair colored, to which he'd smiled a delighted no, and pulled her down on the bed and ravaged her, without waiting to take a pill. A sweet intern on the hill had asked him privately if he'd had work done, to which he merely shook his head. She mentioned their usual hotel room, but he said he would be busy with his wife that evening. The young woman walked away with a curious frown.

Ron checks his watch. He's thirty minutes early. Surely she does not have an appointment before his! He strides purposefully toward the clustered tents. Hers is marked with the streaming gold banner, pointed and edged with green.

"Marilee," he calls out. "Marilee, you here babe?"

He hears her muffled voice cry out as though in pain, and quickly pulls back the flap. When he sees her, he stops cold. She is alone, kneeling beside her sofa, breasts squashed on the cushion, her face buried in billowed softness. Her rounded tummy hangs nearly to the rug. Her legs are apart and both hands work their magic on the secret flesh between. Her hips pump insanely. She cries out, voice muffled.