Life on the Farm

In the dark and the still of the night, I awoke with my breasts so engorged I thought they'd explode. The top three buttons at the bodice of my nightgown were gone, I hadn't even heard them pop off. I sat up and let out a sound that was part-yelp, part-wail. Presently, Daddy came in from the Master suite to see what all the bleating was about.

"Well look at you, my Pet," he said, smiling appreciatively at me, "it seems you've much to give." He took the MILKING MACHINE, which was actually a hospital grade double-breast pump, and, unbuttoning the rest of my bodice, attached it to my engorged breasts. He turned it up to full throttle and soon it began to make a proper humming noise. Milk poured out both my nipples and into the collection cups.

"Thank you, Daddy," I sighed happily as the milk flowed out from my breasts, "I really needed this." And I did, such full, engorged breasts made it impossible to sleep, as they were hurting my back. But Daddy knew what I needed, he knew just what to do. After an hour of pumping out milk, my back felt better and I was yawning sleepily.

"Delicious as ever, Pet," Daddy said, tasting my milk, "I'm a go put this in the fridge and then I'll be back to give my best girl a treat, OK."

"OK," I nodded sleepily. I was already half in dreamland when he returned, but I dutifully replied when Daddy bade me turn over, on my hands and knees. "Yes, Daddy," I mumbled, not even all the way awake. I felt his thickness inside me and suddenly I was wide awake, electrified as though he'd shoved a lightning rod instead of just his member, into me. "Ohhhhhhhhhhh yeah, Daddy," I moaned, "ohhhhhh, that's it, that's the spot."

"You are my best girl," he whispered, his voice thick in my ear, "the one I absolutely had to have" I knew this to be true, for though Daddy had other Pets, his life hadn't been complete until there was me. I felt him pull out of me and then climax on my back...it was not his intent to breed me at this time, so he didn't climax inside me. But just the same I was glad to have him climax on me, to feel his essence on my body and know I belong to him. "Now be good and sleep," he said, after he'd finished and was putting on his shorts.

I rolled over and slept, clutching a stuffed bunny I called thumper. Not only did I sleep, I slept the satisfied, dreamless sleep of one who has no worries & no responsibilities.

Come morning. I heard The Wrangler making her way down the dormitory hall. The Wrangler could've been Angelina Jolie's long lost twin...seriously, Brad Pitt would've had trouble telling the two apart. Anyway, she got her nickname "The Wrangler" because she always wore Wrangler jeans that fitted her like a second skin. The Wrangler was also the only female on the place that was NOT one of Daddy's pets. She was the only person, other than Daddy himself, who was permitted on the dormitory. Her job was to see that all the pets got up in the morning, that they were fed, bathed, groomed, that whoever needed a milking got it, that any pet who was pregnant got enough to eat, that the babies were fed. Basically The Wrangler was the assistant manager here at the farm.

Right now there were three of us hucows here at the farm. At thirty-six, I'm the eldest. I've been here the longest...I've even been here longer than The Wrangler and her damn jeans. It's because I'm over 35 years old that Daddy's not breeding me, not himself nor with any of the bulls from the neighboring stud farms. Megyn is twenty-four, she's currently pregnant, and I mean HEAVILY pregnant, with twins sired by Big Angus, the gorgeous bull from nearby Scott Thorson's farm. Angelique is the new girl, she's only nineteen, been here three weeks. Doe-eyed and heavy-breasted, I just know Daddy's going to breed her soon.

Daddy himself is a fifty-seven year old German-American man. His given name is Christopher Gunderson, another German-American. But none of us here on the farm call him that. Not even The Wrangler. She calls him "Boss" or "Mr. Gunderson". I've no idea who or what Daddy had been in the outside world, but he'd bought this piece of land on which the farm sat shortly before I arrived. The way I understood it, or the way he'd made me to understand, Daddy didn't much LIKE the modern world. The women's movement especially, he didn't particularly care for. What with women wanting to have careers & either having fewer children or flat out not having children. It was upsetting the natural order, Daddy said. And Daddy likes the natural order. Likes to see a woman big with child, or breast feeding.

But what am I doing...I haven't even told you MY name, you must think me downright rude by now. My name is Mia. Like I said, I'm thirty-six, and I've been on the farm the longest. I admit I didn't dream of growing up to be a hucow when I was a little girl. I actually grew up downstate, in New York City, if you can believe that. Came upstate to go to college at SUNY (State University of New York) Binghamton at eighteen, only I didn't do so good. By the time I was nineteen, I had myself a booze habit to rival that of an Irish dockworker, I'd flunked out of school, I certainly was NOT going to go home and admit that I was such an abject failure, I shacked up with a boyfriend for awhile, but he threw me out one night, & all I remember is drunkenly stumbling into a field where I must've passed out.

I awoke from that stupor in what appeared to be some sort of medical-looking room. Two men, one in plaid shirt, the other in doctor's white coat, were standing over me. What in the FUCK had happened.

"Good afternoon, Miss," the man in the white coat said, "do you know where you are?"

I shook my head.

"D'you remember last night?" the guy in the overalls asked.

"Bits and pieces," I said, "who are the two of you."

"I'm Dr. Hughes," the man in the white coat said, "and this here," he gestured towards the other man, "is Mr. Gunderson. You're in a room on Mr. Gunderson's farm."

"You were pretty drunk last night," Mr. Gunderson said.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I said, attempting to sit up, "if I damaged your home or your property in any way, I'll make it right-"

"No damage done," he said, "and I'd advise you not to sit up just yet, little missy. I found you passed out in a field & I brought you inside. Called Dr. Hughes here."

"Well, as much as I appreciate that, I'm fine. Have the hangover from hell, but I'm fine otherwise."

"You are far from fine," Dr. Hughes chimed in, "for one thing you're an alcoholic."

"Binge drinker," I corrected him, "although you'd probably tell me it's the same difference."

"I'm telling you, as a medical doctor, that it is in your unborn child's best interest that you get sober IMMEDIATELY," he said, "do you know what fetal alcohol syndrome is?"

"Wait, what? My unborn what?"

"You're nine weeks pregnant," the doctor said, "didn't you think something was odd when you missed your monthly period?"

"Wow," I said, suddenly grateful that I hadn't sat up, because the news that I was pregnant would have knocked me out like a punch in the face. "I've really been oblivious lately."

"Well," Dr. Hughes said, "I have another patient to see, but I'll be back here early this evening." With that, he collected his doctor bag and showed himself out.

"Well," I said to Mr. Gunderson, who remained, "I guess I'd better get out of your hair. You've probably got things to do yourself."

"Where you goin'?" he asked.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked you where you'll go when you 'get out of my hair'? See, when I found you, I took a look through your purse, to see if you had any ID. I saw you had an ID from SUNY Binghamton, so I called the university...they said you no longer attend, having flunked out last term. So I asked if they had a home address for you, I figured I'd do the right thing and take you home, but the Registrar's office gave me some guy's apartment, said you left that as a forwarding address when you moved out of the dorm."

"Richie," I nodded, "my boyfriend...well, he was, until last night. He kicked me out."

"That's what he said when I called him. That and no, he did not wish to have you returned to him. Only he didn't use such polite language."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," I concurred.

"And I'm guessin' you don't wanna go home to your Mom and Pop, wherever they are," he continued, "girl in your situation, flunked out of school, drinking problem, pregnant to boot, you ain't lookin' to run home and let them see all you've accomplished."

"So what, you running a hotel, Mr. Gunderson?"

"A FARM," he insisted, "my land, my property. I own it free and clear. I can invite someone to stay on, if I so choose."

"I got a baby in my belly and no rent money."

"You hear me ask you for any RENT MONEY?" he gave me a stern look.

"No, Sir."

"That's because I don't want any rent money."

"So what do you want?" I asked the question, half-scared to hear the answer.

"I want you to get clean and sober. I want you to keep your baby, carry him or her full term and have it. Breast feed it too." "Whoa," I said, "you found me passed out in a field...I ended up there because I'd made a complete mess of my life up to that point. What makes you think I can raise a baby, even if my body is physically capable of having one?"

"I'm not asking you to do it alone, girl. I'm here too. I want you to call me Daddy, think of me as the One who's here to take care of you. You need something, and I'll get it for you. I promise to never leave you."

"Can I think about all this? Or must I answer right now?"

"Of course you can think about it." he laughed, "I don't expect you to know right now. But," he said, placing a black leather collar around my neck, "I'd like you to wear this. It's a Collar of consideration, it reflects that you are considering entering into an arrangement that I have proposed, one in which we will belong to each other, as Daddy and Pet." I let him put the Collar around my neck, I didn't know what to make of it. It didn't pull or strangle me or anything. "I'll let you rest now," he said.

He walked out & I cried myself to sleep. But eventually I woke up. By the time I woke up, the room was pitch dark. I turned on a lamp to see what was what. Beside the lamp there was a pitcher of water & a note that read: YOU NEED TO DRINK PLENTY OF WATER TO FLUSH THE TOXINS OUT OF YOUR BODY. That note was, of course, signed Dr. Hughes. So I poured myself some water, drank it, and realized I was suddenly very hungry. I got up, glass of water in hand, and figured if "Daddy" wanted me to stay here at the farm, he wouldn't object to me leaving the medical room.

I stepped out of the room and into a hallway. With no clue where I was or where the hallway even led, I called out, "Hello, is anyone there?"

"I'm here," Daddy's voice came from somewhere to the left. He came towards me. "Good, you're up." He put his arm around my shoulders. "D'you feel like eating?" I nodded. "Great," he said, "let's get you in the kitchen, I'll fry up some steak."

"What time is it?" I asked as he led me to the kitchen and helped me into a kitchen chair.

"Oh, it's about seven-thirty," he said, "you set there and I'll fry you up a nice piece of steak, OK."

"Sounds good," I smiled. He really wasn't such a bad guy. Richie had never fixed me anything to eat. And the steak was tasty, I had to admit that. "Daddy," I asked him in between bites, "if I do stay, "do I have to stay in that room I woke up in?"

"Course not," he smiled, "that room's only for when Dr. Hughes examines you. You can stay in one of the rooms upstairs. In fact," he said, his eyes alight," you can pick which room."

"OK," I said, "after dinner we'll go upstairs and I'll pick one." I smiled. And I'd been expecting him to tell me he wanted me to stay up in HIS bedroom.

After dinner I went to start up the stairs. "Oh, no you don't," he said, "let me." And before I knew what was going on, he lifted me up as though I were a feather and carried me up the stairs, "you don't walk up and down stairs in your condition," he told me.

He put me down when we got to the top of the stairs, but took hold of my hand. The first room at the top of the stairs was the Master suite, his bedroom and bathroom. It was very much a man's bedroom, what with its dark wood furniture. There were seven other bedrooms. At the time, I wondered WHY a solitary man needed so many rooms, but now it makes perfect sense.

I looked in all the rooms...they were pretty much the same, all furnished with double beds and dressers done in cherry wood. I chose the one with the best view of the field. This would be my room, although I didn't know then that I would spend forever here.

During the months my belly grew, Daddy taught me why he'd bought that piece of land and started the farm in the first place. He told me how important it was that I was growing a baby in me, how much he loved my growing belly, big with new life. He came to my room a lot those months, but he never actually entered me. He said that for him to do that when I was carrying might hurt the baby. He mostly massaged my breasts, my burgeoning belly, when I got into the third trimester I started asking him to rub my feet.

He really did take care of everything. The food was bought and cooked without me having to leave the house...some days I didn't leave my room. The bills were paid. I had clothes. Dr. Hughes made regular visits to the house. When he came, Daddy brought me to that medical room on the first floor.

When I was seven months along, I told Daddy I'd made up my mind...I wanted to stay there forever, to never leave. More than that, I felt like I belonged there. I got sober on that place. Daddy had been taking care of me, feeding me, He'd been paying for my prenatal care without ever once mentioning that the baby in my belly had been put there by another man. So I told him, I told him one night while he was rubbing my belly.

"Daddy," I said, "Daddy I wanna stay here forever with you. Raise my baby here."

"Our baby," he corrected me, "and it gives me such joy to hear you say that. We'll have the ceremony at the weekend, OK?"

"OK," I said, not at all sure what sort of ceremony to expect.

The following Sunday, a man called Scott Thorson showed up, dressed in a suit. Mr. Thorson, though I'd never seen him before, lived two miles away, on the next farm. That was a stud farm. Daddy explained that Mr. Thorson would be the celebrant of our ceremony. I wore a lovely white empire waist dress that showed off my baby bump, and a flower crown. Daddy wore his best suit. It was a beautiful ceremony. Not a legal wedding, or at least I don't think. Mr. Thorson pronounced us "Master and Slave" rather than "Man and Wife". Oh I know, SLAVE makes it sound like I was out in the field picking cotton or something, but in reality I hardly ever got out of bed. It's just a word, and Daddy calls me "Pet".

My baby came, right on schedule. He was a big un, Daddy said, but I don't remember that. All I remember was screaming and sweating to bring him into this world. I didn't hear Dr. Hughes tell Daddy the baby was in the "breech" position, but I sure as hell felt it when Daddy put the piece of tree bark in my mouth and told me to bite down. Dr. Hughes' hands were elbow-deep in my belly at that point. I bit down to keep from screaming. The baby finally came out of me, but he had the cord wrapped 'round his neck. He never even got to take a first breath. They wouldn't let me hold him, they wouldn't tell me WHY THEY WOULDN'T LET ME HOLD HIM. Dr. Hughes just came toward me with a needle after the baby was out of me, saying "This is a sedative," and I knew. I knew my baby was dead. I slapped the needle out of Dr. Hughes' hand. There was no sedative-ing this. I sat bolt upright on the medical table and let out a howl that shook the whole goddamn house. I only stopped howling when Dr. Hughes managed to regain his composure, get the needle again, and stick me with it. Not only did I stop screaming, but I passed out.

I woke up from the injection to find myself with no baby and two breasts fully loaded with milk. Not only were they fully loaded, they fucking leaked. Dr. Hughes had supplied me with a hospital grade double breast pump and instructions on how to use it. Obviously I was to use it to pump my breast milk. Even more obviously, the thought of having to pump and dump (who was I going to FEED the breast milk to with no baby) was seemed the most depressing thought in all the world.

"You don't have to throw it away," Daddy said, "no, that's crazy talk. It's perfectly good milk." When he said this, he was sitting beside me on my bed, helping me attach the pump to my breasts for the first time.

"Oh yeah," I looked up at him with tears in my eyes, "who the hell is gonna drink it?"

"I will," he insisted. "And Daddy's thirsty, so let's fire up this thing." He made sure it was attached properly, turned it on, and soon enough we had two big cups of milk. "Gimme this," he grabbed one of the cups, "don't even care that it's warm." He drank the whole cup in one gulp, "ahhhhhhhh, that's refreshing." He grinned at me. I couldn't help myself, I smiled back at him.

And that's when I knew, that's when I knew how in love with that man I really am. So yeah, I've been on the farm the longest. I'm a lifer here. Through the years, Daddy's bred me with the bull from Mr. Thorson's farm, and he's mated with me himself, but I haven't yielded any more babies. He doesn't complain though. Maybe it's because I give good milk.

Of course, there have been OTHERS through the years, and they have given babies. But none of them have stayed on as long as I have. The Wrangler came on about a year after I did. If she has a given name, nobody knows it. We (presently we being myself, Megyn, and Angelique) call her The Boss Lady to her face and Daddy calls her Madam Overseer. It's not a bad life here on the farm.