Real Estate Games Pt. 07

4000 Milky Way

Our first property of the day was an old farmhouse several miles west of the city limits, just outside the main entrance of the 'soon to be defunct' car factory.

"What's the story on this place?" Marked asked as we drove what used to be a busy highway towards the plant.

"It's actually a bit of a mystery. When the auto maker bought up all the surrounding farmland a couple of decades ago, this was the only place that refused to sell. The property had been in the same family since before the civil war and the owner wasn't about to break from tradition."

"If that's the case, why are they selling now?"

"That's the mystery. Everybody else is selling because their livelihood depended on the car plant. But that shouldn't matter to a dairy farm. If they can't sell their milk in Merryville, they can always sell it someplace else."

I had never been to the property before and nearly missed the turnoff. Not that my GPS didn't give me adequate warning. I was expecting "Milky Way" to be a paved road, not a gravel path hidden by a line of mature evergreens. But it was a well-travelled gravel path, evidenced by the deep ruts and lack of grass along its route.

Breaking through the copse of trees was like traveling through a time warp. One minute I was on a four-lane highway looking at a rusting industrial park, and the next view was a gently winding road through well kept, rolling fields of grass, leading towards a three-story colonial with several farm buildings surrounding it. Unlike the car plant, the farmhouse in front of us looked to have a fresh coat of paint, as did the rest of the buildings.

"Wow," Mark said. "Not quite what I was expecting."

"Nor I. If first impressions are any indication, they aren't struggling financially."

The closer we got, the better the place looked. The gravel road gave way to a large paved circular drive with at least a dozen cars parked around its perimeter. Unable to find room in front of the building we went around back where another half dozen vehicles stood in a grassy lot. We parked beside two forty something women who were getting out of an SUV.

As we exited my car, the two ladies gave me a cursory glance and then unabashedly stared at Mark as they walked past us towards the farmhouse. One of the women said something to her compatriot as she lewdly gawked at my client. Her partner giggled and they walked away, turning a couple of times to steal another peak.

"There's something wrong here," Mark said, seemingly oblivious of the attention. "Something missing."

"What?"

"You did say this was a dairy farm. Right?"

"Yes."

He looked around and took a deep breath. "I don't claim to be an expert on the subject, but don't dairy farms usually have cows?"

He had a point. Not only did I not see any cows as we drove up, I also didn't hear or smell any evidence of cows once we escaped the confines of my air-conditioned auto. And why was the parking lot full of cars?

"We could always leave. I could move our one o'clock showing up a few hours and..."

Mark held up his hand to silence me. Before I could explain how rude the gesture was, he put his finger to his lips.

"Listen," he whispered. "Do you hear something?"

"Not really."

He grabbed my hand and led me towards the side of the building, stopping just short of a window.

"You can't hear that?"

If I strained my ears, I could hear a mechanical noise coming from inside the house. And maybe the occasional murmur of people... not actually a murmur, more like soft moans.

Mark tried to peer into the window only to find that it was too high above the ground, even for his six-foot two frame. He looked around for something to stand on and, finding nothing suitable, motioned for me to come over.

"I'll boost you up."

The word "No" had just escaped my lips when two strong hands reached under my dress, grabbed my thighs, and perched me on his shoulder like a parrot on a pirate.

With my left ass cheek supported by Mark's shoulder and my right by his hand, I used his head to balance myself on the precarious perch and only then peered into the room.

The room was dark. The window dirty. I didn't have a great view. But what I thought I saw made me gasp.

"I'll kindly ask you two trespassers to step away from the window."

In a move worthy of a cowardly acrobat, I jumped off Mark's shoulder and placed his body between me and a wrinkled old woman holding a shiny new shotgun.

"That's a big gun for a little lady," Mark said as he slowly turned to face the woman. "I suggest you lower the twelve gauge before you hurt yourself."

She did lower the gun, but only slightly. Where it was initially aimed at his chest, it was now pointing directly at his crotch. "If you got any peeing or screwing planned for the future, I suggest you do as I say."

"I do, on both accounts," Mark said.

"Inside." The gun toting granny motioning to a side door with the muzzle of the gun.

The door led to a long hallway which we followed... Mark and I, side by side, granny several paces behind us.

"First door on the left," she said. "You go first young lady."

Once my eyes adjusted to the darker room, I confirmed what I hoped I hadn't seen from the window. Five naked women were lined up along the length of the room. Each on hands and knees, shackled to the ground, with ball gags secured in their mouths. The moans were most likely a result of the different style sex toys vibrating in their pussy's. The mechanical sounds came from the slow but steady slurp of breast pumps. Each woman hooked up to her own machine.

It was a dairy farm after all. Five human cows lined up for milking... in a room with six stations.

"Well, get on with it," granny said. "Strip down and assume the position."

"I'm sorry. There's obviously been some sort of misunderstanding. I'm a realtor --"

"Missy, I don't give a shit what you do to pay the bills. When you're in here you're nothing more than another set of teats. Now get those fancy clothes off."

"But my breasts don't --"

The ball gag stopped me in mid-sentence. I turned towards Mark, hoping he would come to my aid, only to find he was the one who gagged me.

"I think it's best we do what the lady says," Mark said. "Do you want me to help with your dress?"

He took the full force of my slap to his face unfazed as he deftly dropped my dress to the floor. My matching panties and bra were soon piled on top of the dress.

"You," Granny said, pointing her gun at Mark. "Up against the back wall."

Mark moved as requested, despite the chains and attached to cuffs which hung from the ceiling.

"Go ahead blondie. Truss him up. Unless you want me to turn him into a soprano."

The restraints looked like the real thing to me... straight out of a mid-eval castle dungeon. For some reason, Mark didn't seem worried when I closed the manacles around his wrists and left him. Either being held captive in a crazy woman's basement was on his bucket list or he knew something I didn't.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Granny said once I had Mark properly restrained. "Assume the position."

I wasn't sure what she meant until she pointed towards the five naked moaning women on the floor.

"Unh unh," I grunted through the ball gag, shaking my head.

"Sorry. I forgot this is your first time," Granny said. "I'll get Jonathan to help you."

A young man, no older than nineteen, appeared out of nowhere. He twisted my arm behind my back and used the leverage to walk me to the empty milking station. Using my hair to pull me down to my knees, he quickly had me in the same position as the other ladies. With my belly resting on a short, padded stool, he cuffed my hands and ankles to rings on the floor. My breasts swung freely below me while my ass and pussy stuck out like beacons in the night... ready and available for the use of any passerby.

The breast pumps were next. They were a set of large plastic suction cups with a shot glass sized bump at the end. A rubber tube was attached to the apex of the bump. He moistened the plastic with his tongue and then did the same with my boobs... spending more time on the latter. Once joined, my breasts assumed the form of the cups with my nipples poking into the bumps.

While Jonathan held the cups in place, granny flipped the switch to the electric pumps. I gasped as first one and then the other nipple was sucked into the tube which led to a collection bottle. Which was a problem, because I didn't have any milk to collect. But the milking machine didn't know that.

The left cup contracted, squeezing my tit, drawing my nipple towards the tube. It held the pressure for a second and then released... only to repeat on the right side. And then the left. And then the right. Like strong hands squeezing my tits. Pinching fingers pulling down on my nipples. Continuously. Left boob. Left nipple. Right boob. Right nipple. The machine desperately trying to get milk from empty bottles and refusing to admit defeat.

It was painful. I screamed into the gag but got no response from either Jonathan or the misguided senior citizen. Once I was trussed, both of them disappeared from my sight. They were behind me and, chained as I was, I couldn't turn my head. For all I knew, they had left the room.

Left boob squeezed. Left nipple pulled. Right boob squeezed. Right nipple pulled. Over and over again. If I got into the rhythm, the pain wasn't quite as bad. If I leaned into each action and shifted my weight towards the active pump, it was almost bearable. Swaying my hips in response to the beat reminded me of a song from my past. Couldn't think of the name, but repeating the tune in my head, as the machine continued its quest for the impossible, brought me to a better place.

I imagined it was a man and not a machine kneading my breasts. Certainly not Mark. While he certainly had handled my boobs on more than one occasion, his touch was much gentler. Maybe Officer Flanagan? My experiences with him had been rough but ultimately enjoyable.

Left boob, left nipple. Right boob, right nipple. Never slowing nor speeding up. A constant pace. A metronome of torture... or perhaps stimulation. It was getting hard to tell.

I heard a loud moan from the woman next to me. I was able to turn my head just enough to see a white stream of liquid pouring from the tubes attached to her breasts. Milk. Copious amounts of it. Flowing freely out of her enlarged nipples towards the collection reservoirs. Her muffled sound wasn't one of pain. Definitely pleasure. Brought on by the release of her milk? Or perhaps something else.

I didn't know how long they would leave me chained to the floor while the machine did its dirty work. Another five minutes? Maybe an hour. Hopefully not. But if so, I thought I could handle it...

...until my body quit swaying. My kneeling dance was impeded by two large hands, one on either side of my hips. That's when I remembered what the other women in the room had that I didn't. Besides lactating breasts, each of my cell mates were not only restrained, gagged and hooked up to a milking machine. They also had some sort of electronic sex aid stuffed well into their pussies. Which could explain why my next-door neighbor was moaning.

The hand that started on my right hip slowly transitioned to my ass, then the inner thigh and eventually to the blonde V between my legs. I wasn't completely surprised when the finger entered my pussy -- that was the obvious next step -- but how effortlessly it gained access? That was a bit of a shock. I was apparently extremely wet down there.

One, then two fingers easily slid through my defenses without even token resistance from my traitorous vaginal lips. While the digits explored my insides, a palm did the same on the outside... caressing my ass.

Left boob. Left nipple. Fingers stroking the g spot. Right boob. Right nipple. Hand fondling my ass. All in sequence. All in perfect harmony.

Boobs, nipples, vagina, ass. A symphony of stimulation which had long turned the corner from pain to pleasure.

And then a completely different sensation. No. Not an orgasm, although I was fairly sure one was just around the corner. This was something I'd never experienced before. This new feeling was like a load being suddenly taken from my chest. A pent-up pressure was finally allowed to flow out of my body; like a dam breaking with water flooding through the hole. In this case numerous holes, several in each nipple.

It shouldn't have happened... was physically impossible. But the milk flowing through my breasts, out my nipples and down the rubber tubes was proof. I was lactating. Not the opulent amounts of my neighbors, but sufficient to cover the bottom of the collection bottles. And it continued to flow. Especially when the fingers in my pussy were replaced with a much thicker, longer appendage.

The hands returned to my hips giving the owner of the deeply imbedded cock leverage.

Left boob. Left nipple. Cock in. Squirt. Right boob. Right nipple. Cock out. Squirt. The pump, the cock, the milk. Each taking their turn. Each in sequence. Each knowing its place in the universe of my body.

I didn't want to come. At least not yet. I wanted to stay in concert with the cosmos as long as my body could endure. But when the cock in my vagina increased its rhythm and swelled in size, I knew it was just a matter of time before I started squirting something besides milk.

"Grandma, Jonathan, what in God's name do you think you're doing?" The woman's voice brought the concert to an abrupt and premature end.

"What we always do on Fantasy Friday, entertaining the clients." From the proximity of the voice, it most likely belonged to Jonathan, who hurriedly pulled his erection out of my overly excited pussy just seconds before I reached nirvana.

"What makes you think she's a client?" the female voice asked.

"They were sneaking around outside, peaking into the window," the gun toting grandma said while walking into my view. "You said we'd have a new lady coming today, I figured this was her."

"Jonathan, you release her right now. Grandma, you see to our real clients."

"What do I do with this one?" Grandma asked, pointing to Mark who was still chained to the wall.

"Who the hell is he?"

"I'm with Miss Moorehead," Mark said in a calm measured voice.

"Who is Miss Moorehead?"

"My real estate agent," Mark said. "We had an appointment at nine. I apologize for our tardiness. Miss Moorehead was tied up for a while."

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. We're all going to jail," my unknown rescuer lamented.

***

Fifteen minutes and a hundred apologies later, Mark and I were sitting in Laura Taylor's third floor office. Laura was the woman who rescued us from the dungeon. She was also the owner of the property.

"I take full responsibility for what happened this morning," Laura said in yet another apology. "Grandma and Jonathan were only following my instructions."

"To kidnap me, tie me up, abuse my breasts and rape me?" I asked. "Those were your instructions? I thought this was supposed to be a dairy farm."

"I know, you have every right to be upset..."

"Oh, I'm way past upset, past mad even. I'm well into pissed off enough to call in a dozen cops and two dozen lawyers. You've got two minutes to convince me otherwise."

"Let's start with the absence of cows and move forward from there," Mark suggested.

Not where I would have started. I would have asked why there was a sadomasochistic milking dungeon in her basement. Where her farm hand's fingers and penis had been before they found their way into my pussy was also an area of personal interest. But more importantly, I really wanted to know how in the hell they got milk out of my boobs.

But Mark didn't care about the shackles or milking machines. I already knew he didn't care about who fucked me while I wasn't looking. And if he even knew I had miraculously turned into a wet nurse, I was sure he would only use it to his advantage.

So, when Mark asked about the absence of cows, I kept my mouth shut, hoping that the answers to the pressing questions would eventually become clear.

"We had to sell them," Laura answered, referencing Mark's inane cow question. "With the price of labor going up and all those damn lactose intolerant kids people are raising these days, dairy farming just isn't profitable anymore."

"So how do you pay the bills," Mark asked.

"We quit milking cows and started milking women. I can get more for an ounce of breast milk than I ever got for a gallon of cow's milk. There's a nationwide shortage of the stuff. I don't take advantage of the inflated prices because most of what we produce is bought by charities who give it away to women too poor to buy it. We see ninety women come through here every day. Some of them twice a day. All volunteers. They're giving me the milk for free and all I have to do is create the proper atmosphere for optimum lactation."

"'The proper lactation atmosphere.' Is that what you call your torture chamber?" I asked in the most sarcastic voice I could muster.

"We discovered early on that women produce more milk when they are either perfectly relaxed or sexually excited. Unfortunately, you saw the extreme... an experience we only offer to our more daring clients and only of Friday mornings. Most of our ladies spend their lactation periods reading or listening to music. We furnish fruit juice, healthy snacks and a private place to hook into a pump.

"But some ladies aren't here to help starving infants in Appalachia. They come to be entertained. To get what they're not getting a home. Romance, adventure and yes, a hint of danger. Hence Fantasy Friday. To cater to a small but generous set of our clients, we play act a different fantasy every Friday."

"By any chance was today's fantasy a combination kidnapping bondage scenario?" I asked, not quite as pissed as I was previously.

Laura nodded her head dejectedly in agreement. "Unfortunately, yes. And you two walked right into it."

"Okay, I can see Granny thinking Miss Moorehead was one of your kinky clients, but what about me?" Mark asked. "Shouldn't she have been suspicious when a man showed up?"

"It's not the norm, but some women like to bring their husbands or boyfriends with them. Some men like to watch, and some like to join in. I hate to keep apologizing, but my son was not supposed to do what he did, at least not without your permission."

"Jonathan, the farm hand? He's your son?" I screamed.

Laura nodded dejectedly. "He's a good kid, but he's also got a good bit of his father in him."

"I can't believe that your mother kidnaped us and then held a gun on my client while your son had his way with me."

"Actually, Grandma is my mother in law... or she was before my divorce."

"Your ex-mother-in-law works for you?"

"It's complicated..."

"Doesn't sound too complicated to me. Your son's a rapist and his grandma likes to watch."

Laura's tears told me I wasn't too far from the truth.

"Don't be too hard on young Jonathan," Mark said. "I'm sure he's not the first man to lose control when around Miss Moorehead. And as for his grandmother... she should be commended for her role playing. We were both convinced that we were in mortal danger."

"That's it?" I asked. "Johnny should have known better and Grandma was just doing her job? A slap on the wrist and then it's business as usual?"

"No, not at all," Mark said. "You were seriously aggrieved, and reparation is due. But since there was no malice in their actions, I suggest we move on to the original reason for our visit and use what happened earlier today as a bargaining point."

If recent history repeated itself, Mark planned to take advantage of both the situation and Laura. Considering what recently happened to me, I let him continue... making no effort to warn the fake dairy farmer of what my client had in mind.