Monster Girls: Futa Farm

My name is Jolyne Barsson and I am here today to share my exploration into the world of Monster Girl Farms. It is a fascinating subject that runs the breadth of public opinion from pornographic sex barns to unmitigated slavery. What do I think of it? Well as a journalist, I think I should keep my opinions for later as to not color my telling about them. My part in this is simply research and conveyance of the truth. Though I hope you will forgive how I tell it. A transcript of our interaction would be very droll to read so I have taken the liberty of transcribing it into the form of a story.

Now without further ado, my first day on Cream Ranch and Orchard with its owner Ginger Farlow.

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When I descended from the pass into the little valley that held the tiny town of Chewelah, I was astounded at how peaceful and idyllic it looked. The mountains rose up on the horizon in every direction I looked, creating a long peanut-shaped valley of lush green and gold farms. Forests of thick coniferous trees covered the mountains and dropped down into the valley to butt right up against the fields. Most of the commerce here was made up of farms of one kind or another filling most of the valley. The town itself sat across the crook of a small river, barely more than a creek really. It was a single main street built along the highway with a few branches going off both directions. Maybe two hundred people lived there with a half-dozen restaurants, a grocery store, a hardware shop, a gas station, and a single used car lot.

I decided to come into town the evening before I was supposed to go to Cream Ranch so I could avoid driving too much in the early, dark morning. I stayed the night in a tiny one-person room in the bed and breakfast that also doubled as Chewelah's 'cozy breakfast place' as declared by the internet reviews.

At maybe half past far too early in the morning, I left the dark and quiet hotel room to climb into my car and drive up to the ranch. It was a moonless night and the stars were the only light aside from my car and a few others on the road. Ginger had told me over the phone that she generally got up before four in the morning to get started on her daily tasks with her monster girls. I needed to be over there around that time if I wanted a first hand account of everything.

Cream Ranch was another ten minutes past Chewelah and a bit into the mountains on the other side. A dirt road off the highway led me back into a tiny crook in the mountains. I came to a wooden gate with a sign proclaiming it to be Cream Ranch. A tiny plank that said 'And Orchard' had been hung beneath on short hooks. I turned up the drive and my lights fell on what could only be described as the most fantastical depiction of a farm ever seen.

A squat red house with white trim and brown roof sat at the end of the drive. It had a front porch of dark wood and a large window that looked right into a dim living room. Two garage doors to the right denoted an attached garage. A short distance behind that was a large cherry red barn with similar white accents. A soft light emanated from within the barn. I just sort of took in all the details as I drove up towards the house and my curiosity grew further. What kind of a woman was this Ginger Farlow? How did she manage all of this by herself? She produced enough products to export them quite far from the quiet little town and an encounter with one of her products had been what set me on this trail initially.

Cream Ranch, in terms of monster girl products, was actually quite well known for its incomparable quality amongst the consumers of said products and it was also well known for its almost equally incomparable privacy of its owner. For some reason, despite numerous journalists having claimed to visit here over the years, no papers or articles had ever been written beyond tiny blurbs and positive product reviews. Nothing I searched through and nobody I talked to had ever read anything in depth on the place. I, naturally, was intensely curious and chased every lead until I got in contact to come here.

As I turned my car off in front of the house and the front door opened, I got my first look at Ginger Farlow. A cigarette hung from her mouth and she pulled on it, making the ember glow bright enough to light her face and throw shadows across her body.

Now, do not misunderstand me, I have been a reporter and journalist with a specialization for the more rural parts of our country for some years. To that end, I have seen and reported on many monster girl farms in the past. Usually monster girl care was a man's business and it could rarely if ever be handled by a single person unless the farm was exceedingly small, which Cream Ranch could not be due to the amount of product it produced. Due to controversy, they are often quite popular topics and so the curio of one very well-hidden little farm run by a lone female proprietor was a clear topic I needed to uncover. So when I say I was startled by the sight of her, I am not speaking from a point of inexperience or naivete. I am knowledgeable and still surprised.

Ginger Farlow was a powerfully built woman, Amazonian in stature and size. She stood more than six feet tall with a sharply angular face and long, wavy hair of deep red. Freckles covered her cheeks and splattered all up her bare, muscular arms. She wore the expected attire of an ideal farmer: denim bib overalls and a white tank top. That was where the standard farmer look ended. Her tank top was strained to breaking over a voluptuous chest who's curves spread out the sides of her overalls. Said overalls were also altered in one very noticeable way. The crotch had been completely removed and a comfortable seam stitched around the hole to let her massive horse cock hang free in a show of throbbing girth that wasn't just a morning wood; it was a morning pillar of granite. As if that weren't enough, a pair of bulging testicles like cantaloupes hung from her open crotch.

"That you Jolyne? Well come on now, we don't have all morning." Ginger's voice was deep and matronly.

I opened the door and said, "Good morning, Ginger. Thank you for inviting me to experience a day on your farm."

She jerked her head back at the house, "Yeah. Morning's getting along and the girls get restless if I don't make my rounds so we need to get started."

Girls? She must be talking about the monster girls she cares for. My eyes kept fixating on her huge dick. The fact that she had clothing specifically sewn to let it hang out meant she was used to showing it off. The sight of it was still beyond impressive and it made my pussy quiver as blood surged away from my brain. I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to bend over in front of that behemoth. Could I even survive?

I tripped on the bottom step of her porch and nearly face-planted. Strong, calloused hands grabbed my arm and kept me from slamming my face into the wood. I felt Ginger pull me up almost effortlessly and set me on my feet. My face passed within inches of that magnificent shaft and I smelled a strong, virile musk around it that made my panties soak through in seconds. If I wasn't already drooling over her, that would've made me do so instantaneously.

"Bit tired, I imagine? You city lovers never are morning folk. Come on in, coffees still hot. Pour you a mug and you can follow along until you wake up enough to ask questions." Ginger said, turning and pulling open the screen door for me. I felt a bit of pique at her insinuation that I was too incoherent to even form a question. I was a professional damn it, and... ohhh damn that coffee did smell good. The scent of it wafted through the door as I stepped inside. It had the smell of a strong dark roast made from rich beans. Pure caffeinated heaven.

Her living room was quaint and comfortable with thick woolen carpet and warmly colored wooden paneling on the walls. There was no television or any electronics beyond a tall stereo set up in one corner. It wasn't even a modern setup either. It was a radio, amplifier, record player, and cassette deck stacked in a cabinet with tower speakers on either side. The kind of setup you'd see in the eighties. A plush couch sat opposite it and a large, overstuffed chair took up another corner. Curled up in that chair was the first monster girl of the day: A fluffy, cream-furred cat girl. Her yellow feline eyes flicked open when I entered and she stared at me. A low mrrreow came out of her and she stretched before getting up on her paws. She was a short thing at only four feet tall. She had paws with fur up past her elbows and knees. A long tail that looked as soft as a cloud hung behind her. Her ears twitched and she sniffed at the air before padding over to me. She sniffed around me and rubbed her head on my leg.

"Don't mind Milly. Bought her to catch mice but she's a lazy thing and mostly just lays around inside all day." Ginger said and she shrugged, "Sucks a good dick though, so I keep her around."

That made me pause and look down at the cat girl in surprise. So blatantly admitting to fucking her monster girls. It really shouldn't have been a surprise. Sex with monster girls isn't uncommon, but it is intensely controversial due to the lack of communication. Some feel that, without the ability to speak or communicate in any self-aware fashion, having sex with monster girls is inherently rape. The opposition to this stance feels that, because monster girls are so clearly sexually attracted to humans, that there is no harm whatsoever to the copulation between the species. Some even say its our duty as the more intelligent species to cater to their needs and care for them when possible. It is undeniable that monster girls come onto humans at nearly every opportunity, such as right now with Milly sliding between my legs as she nuzzled at my crotch.

"Uhhh~!" I said, holding my hands up as Milly's paw groped at my crotch. Her tail flicked and she sniffed eagerly at me. I didn't want Ginger to get the idea that I was fondling her cat or something.

"Milly, stop that. You'll get yours later. She doesn't even have a dick to fuck you with anyway, silly cat." Ginger swatted Milly across the ears. The cat gave an annoyed sound and actually scampered away on all four paws. She hopped up in the chair and curled up again, her eyes fixed on Ginger with a look of annoyance and lust in them. Ginger shook her head, "I mean, you don't got a dick, do you? Nah, course you don't. Pretty rare lot, girls with cocks. Come on, we'll get that coffee and go out back."

Ginger finished her cigarette and put it out in an ash tray on the kitchen counter. She pulled a mug from the cupboard and picked up an old copper coffee pot off the stove to pour a steaming mugful. I took it and looked around the kitchen. All the cupboards were painted a soft white and the floor was a brown linoleum. Still more gaudy design from decades passed.

"You have a cozy home." I observed as I sipped at the coffee. It had a strong flavor and felt thick on the tongue. It was a good thing I sipped because if I had taken a gulp, it would've kicked me in the teeth. I had been right about it smelling strong.

"Keeps the rain off my head." Ginger said and she led me out the back door. I was getting the feeling that Ginger was a rather easy going woman, or at least one that didn't let much get to her.

The back yard was gorgeously kept. The grass was lush and thick, and there was a large oak tree that would provide shade over much of it. A small white fence wrapped around the manicured grass to separate it from the rest of the farm. Outside the fence, the ground was a mix of gravel, dirt, weeds, and randomly sprouting greenery. A surprising amount of flowers and pretty flora grew at random where I could see. The barn sat nearly straight back from the house and the doors on it were tightly closed. Around and behind the barn spread the orchard the farm was named for, which I could barely make out from the glow emanating from the barn's small shutters and cracks around doors.

"It's beautiful here." I said as I followed her down the well-worn path in the yard.

She nodded as we walked, "I like it. It's quiet and it's mine." She stopped and seemed to think, "Well, mine and hers I guess."

"Hers?" I latched onto the odd choice of speech.

Ginger shook her head, "Later. Early mornings, I have to milk the cows and tend the chicks. That's how may days always start, milking the girls first and then getting onto other things."

Cows. Plural. If they were normal cows that wouldn't sound like much at all, but multiple cow girls? That was a damn handful, if what I knew about milking was true. I was intensely curious how Ginger managed it all. Did she have machinery to do it like some of the bigger monster girl farms? She must, I thought, as we approached the barn.

"Now, please move slowly and speak softly. My girls are sensitive and anything strange makes them uneasy. They've never met you before and they will startle very easy." Ginger warned as she grabbed the knob of the small person-sized door set in the middle of the larger barn door.

"Okay." I nodded and she pushed the door open. Ginger stepped inside and I followed her.

The inside of her barn was almost as cozy as her house. Warm yellow lights hung from strings on the ceiling, giving it an almost festival feel with them spread down each side to light the barn in a gentle glow. The floor of the barn was a clean and soft mix of sand and dirt. The air was warmer than I expected and it smelled softly of fruit. Two separate stalls took up the majority of the space on either side of the barn, splitting it off into small rooms of sorts. The far end of the barn held another large door, and there was a ramp to our right that led up into the loft.

"Now, I've already been through this morning to feed everyone. It should help ease any tensions about a stranger being with me for the milkings and morning chores." Ginger said as she pointed at the first little room on our left, "Cows first."

I looked around and began to grow even more curious. There were no machines or electronics I could see out here either, just the lights and a large heater built into the wall beneath the ramp. I was sure we'd come out here to find milking stations and sheering booths aplenty. So I asked as we approached the little curtain that separated the cows, "You don't seem to have any equipment or anything. Is it all in these stalls?"

Ginger shook her head and pulled back the curtain, "No. No machines, no electricals other than lights and heat. Everything gets done by hand."

"Everything?" I cocked my head as I looked past the curtain.

Inside was a room floored with more soft dirt and a few piles of fluffy hay. Settled in before a trough full of vegetables and fruits were two plump and curvy cow girls. One was dark of fur, and the other mottled black and white. They sat in the dirt with hooves folded beneath them and long tails twitching as they ate. They had soft faces and thick hair parted by small white horns. Of the two of them, the mottled cow girl had larger breasts with a cup size in the inhuman range. That didn't mean the brown cow girl was small, her boobs were still bigger than my head each, and they jiggled with every movement of her body. Each pair of tits were as large as spigots. The both of them had wide hips and thick asses, giving their bodies an impossibly fertile look.

The brown furred cow held a large head of cabbage in her hands and was biting into it eagerly, and the other was eating an apple from each hand. They both stopped and went totally still when they saw my face. Ginger walked in and placed herself between me and the two cows. She spoke in a quieter voice, "Hey girls, here's the one I said would come. No need to be scared, she's just another nosy reporter type."

The cows continued chewing slowly on their breakfast as Ginger leaned down and petted both of them between their horns. They mooed sweetly through mouthfuls of food and leaned into the petting. That surprised me. Usually cow girls were a little more unruly than this. Most other cow girl farms I had covered had to keep them harnessed and tethered to keep them from doing anything unexpected. Cow girls tended to headbutt or kick a lot. These two looked like they were as pleasant and loveable as their bodies appeared to be.

"Come on over. Slowly now. Let them see you." Ginger said, stepping to the side.

Two pairs of deep dark eyes looked up at me. Their chewing slowed as they stared. I stepped into the stall and kept my hands at my sides. My movements were slow and I stopped only a step inside.

The stall was spacious and there was five or six feet between us. I looked around and was surprised to see no milking equipment beyond a line large metal jugs. Most of the stall was open to allow the cows plenty of space. There was a large water trough beside the food trough.

"It's so simple." I murmured as I squatted down and held out my hands.

"Of course. I told you, I do it all by hand." Ginger laughed softly. She pointed at the brown cow, "This is Biri..." She pointed at the mottled cow, "And this is Dall."

"Is this really all you have? Only two cows? I've seen your products in stores. It's not a lot, but it's more than I could imagine these two making. One store had four pints of fresh milk, and I heard you were selling in eight or ten different stores. You have to have more." I said as I watched the two cow girls eat.

Ginger shook her head. She patted their heads again and said, "My girls eat thousands of calories of the finest fruits and vegetables I can grow each and every day. They produce gallons of milk every day." She reached down to grab one of their breasts. Milk spurted from her thick nipple with a pleased moo. "And it's the finest cow girl milk anywhere."

I watched the fresh cream run down Dall's huge breast and drip from its fat curve. I shook my head, "How? That's impossible."

"Cow girls make more milk the happier they are, and the more well cared for, the better the milk." She said and she rubbed Biri's head to draw another happy moo from her.

"Happiness doesn't change reality. Even the most productive cow girl farms can't get more than a pint or two per cow. I've never heard of a cow girl milking for an entire gallon in a day, let alone multiple." I shook my head in disbelief. Some of the most profitable monster girl farms that employed the most skilled caretakers boasted an average twenty pints per day from a dozen cow girls. Yet somehow Ginger was trying to tell me her cows were multiple times more productive?

"Well just watch." Ginger shrugged as she got up and grabbed for one of the large metal cans. She set it down in front of Dall, who responded by mooing happily and holding her arms up out of the way. Ginger put her hands to one of Dall's boobs and began massaging it. Her touch brought a moaning moo from Dall. Ginger commentated quietly as she worked, "Machines are cold, impersonal. Cow girls are sensitive and empathetic creatures. They really only start producing for you when they feel they have a bond with you. That bond is incredibly important because it is a sign of trust and love. Dall was my first cow and she's been with me ever since I moved here. She wouldn't release all her milk for anything but my own two hands."

I sipped at my coffee and watched. Biri watched as well, and if I didn't know any better I'd say she looked wistful for the milking Dall was starting to receive. The one thing that couldn't be denied was that these two were the most docile cows I'd ever seen. They both contentedly kept eating as Ginger started to squeeze at Dall's nipple. She aimed it at the can and a powerful jet of milk sprayed into it with a loud splash. More than just the main stream from her nipple, a messy little shower of milk sprayed over the can.