Gromet's PlazaDevoured Stories

Old Milkers

by Jackie Rabbit

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© Copyright 2013 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: FM+/f+; captives; milk; machines; sold; auction; beasts; vore; spit; roast; eaten; kidnap; sex; climax; soft; cons/nc; XX

Being an enterprising businesswoman I looked at the popular trend of human milk producing farms, and their acceptance with the well healed in society that didn't want to produce their own. Some farms were designed right from the start for human cows, and their automated processes provided plausible deniability for any farmer caught "accidentally" enslaving a free woman against her will. Several key parts of the automated conversion from free woman to milker left the latter with little in common with their free relatives, and it was easy for the courts to draw up legal distinctions between the two.

If a woman had breasts in excess of ten percent of their total body weight, or had a legal trademark brand, or had bovine growth hormones in their systems, they were automatically considered milkers from a legal stand point and forfeited any human rights. If a woman were caught with anything even close to the ten percent breast weight among the free women in society, she could be captured by bounty hunters and shipped to the closest certified farm for evaluation while the bounty hunters collected their fees. Not surprisingly, those captured were rarely released as the farms had the only labs that could accurately evaluate the patented bovine growth hormone, and the court system had set many precedents in accepting their certifications. The demand for human milk didn't encourage the courts look all that hard for any truth or justice, and the relatives of the human cows didn't complain either as it was understood that they were compensated handsomely for their donated stock.

PETA was one hundred percent on board and even endorsed the practice of human milkers, as they were commonly known, to prevent the indignity of milking real cows and damaging their valuable self esteem in the process. The global warming believers liked the practice as well citing various studies that proved human milkers produced significantly less greenhouse gas methane emissions per gallon of milk produced over their bovine competitors. The last group one would expect to support the practice, The National Organization of Women, fully endorsed human milking farms, and even the forced recruitment of milkers for the good of society as a whole. None of the NOW women liked the idea of providing their own milk, or the idea that a woman should be so slim and well endowed that she could naturally have ten percent breast weight and unfairly get the attention of any man over them. Clearly they had some personal biases to deal with in their opinions, but for the near future human milk farms were one of the few growing business.

Other farms had accidentally converted curious or clumsy women to milker status as they became entangled in the automated machinery of cow milk farms, and in each case it was discovered that the milkers could out produce their bovine competitors with much less feed once they were pumped full of the bovine growth hormones. With the public acceptance of human milk, and the greater profit associated with milkers due to their reduced operating costs per gallon of milk produced, cow milk farm "accidents" were as frequent as they were irreversible. For years people pretended these things didn't happen to anybody they knew, and the talking heads on TV suggested that the practice was even good for society by removing those who were different from the rest of us, and allowing them to do what nature obviously intended them to do.

None of this history interested me back when I was at university, but nearly ten years later I sensed there was an opportunity to make a buck as my company solved two global problems at the same time. An average milker recruited at the legal age could produce profitably for twenty years, more than double what real cows could do under the best of circumstances, and as a result milkers were replacing their bovine competition daily with the unintended consequence of effecting the world food supply. In developed countries their were still strict regulations on what kinds of meat went into the national food supply, but in third world countries starving for protein no such regulations existed.

Old milk cows were tough, but still fed millions of poor people globally when they no longer produced, however old milkers might not be quite so tough. There would soon be tens of thousands of old milkers coming off line, and hundreds more each month as the older milkers in the various herds aged out of profitable service. Their could be no reintegration back into society for these beautiful well endowed beasts despite their excellent physical conditioning, because if it were successful it would lead to all sorts of uncomfortable questions of ethics that none in society wanted to answer.


My company picked up the first load of semi-retired milkers at a farm in a cattle trailer, and shipped them to the docks under the cover of darkness. There were many such trailers that only traveled at night, and our first ship was full in days with the confused milkers who were still fed and watered like they had become accustomed to. What fees we collected from the farms to remove the milkers easily paid for their shipping and care, and everything we would earn from their sale at auction was pure profit.

I didn't travel with the first ship, but I flew in to see the auction for myself and was astounded to see the interest in the milkers. Many villages bought two of them to continue to provide milk as they were accustomed, when they weren't harnessed to a plow or wagon instead. The villagers also realised that while a horse or an ox could do more work on it's own, if they harnessed enough milkers to the same burden they could do the same job with less feed. It was a simple matter of fuel, or feed efficiency for them.The submissiv emilkers, still being physically fit women with massive breasts, could also provide interesting entertainment for the mostly male farmers as they were harnessed to their plows, or even when they were milked. They would spend most of their remaining time as well treated and valuable beasts of burden, worked hard in the fields, milked hard afterwards, but one day served as dinner. They probably didn't realise it, but they were the lucky ones.

Some of the milkers were quite attractive and graded prime A, and those were grabbed up by noblemen for feasts and banquets at premium rates. In many places in the world it is considered a show of ultimate respect to serve a spit roasted beast to their honored guests, and the beasts at this particular auction were unique to say the least and brought a magnificent price per pound.

I was honored to be invited to one of these feasts, even more so as women are usually not allowed unless for entertainment purposes. I dressed in respectable fashion and was seated close to my host as a further show of honor, and I watched in fascination as the prime A beast rotated on the spit and roasted in front of us as entertainment. Her massive breasts moved and rolled on her chest as she rotated on the spit in what can only be described as horribly erotic. I didn't speak the language well and certainly didn't want to know the particulars of the preparations of the beast.

I saw the spit entering her sex and exiting her open mouth, with movement and respiration clearly detected by many of us for quite sometime over the hot coals. It didn't appear the beast was in any pain even though she was bound tightly to the spit, and in fact it appeared she was grinding herself back and forth on the spit in little motions that made me think of sex. Eventually the little motions stopped, but not before she made eye contact with the only other woman present, and it unnerved me. When the motions ceased, the entire dinner party stood and applauded their rotating meals performance and durability.

After dancing women performed for us, and several other events took place, we were served the spit roast. It was delicious, but not like any other roast I had ever had. I left later in the evening and promised to deliver many more shipments of the special roasts, and a promise in this part of the world was like a contract. I went back to my hotel late, but sleep wouldn't come as I remembered the look the spit roasted milker gave me, she was about my age and without her massive breasts, (that had instantly fallen out of fashion many years ago), could have been a model for one of the larger agencies. I flew out the next day exhausted, and chastised myself for my personification of the milkers, and promised myself I wouldn't do it again.


It was the same story every place we sent the ships, and my company made more money than I thought possible in the following year. I also kept my promise to myself that I wouldn't think of the milkers in human terms, and only about the continued good they were providing all over the world. I had turned over all of the daily operations to Dave my second in command, and purposely placed myself on various vacations around the world to distance myself from the business that made me very wealthy almost overnight, but still tugged at my conscience.

Dave had called me months later on vacation to report several problems back home, and he never bothered me unless it was important. It seems there were several messy grabs by the bounty hunters, one in particular was a citizen of note and usually avoided for obvious reasons with pre abduction screening. That got the court system to take notice, and even several investigative reporters went into the human milk farms disguised as milkers and promptly disappeared. Dave then made idle chit chat that was so out of character for the intelligent man, and I suddenly realised he thought I would rat out everybody else in the company to escape prosecution. I told him not to worry as I would never talk as I heard somebody knock at the door of my hotel room...

...I was grabbed by three large men dressed as hotel staff and quickly gagged and stripped and stuffed into a laundry cart with my arms and legs efficiently bound with duct tape. I heard one of the men finish my phone call with Dave, and I then knew why he was dragging out our conversation so much and distracting me at the same time. One of the large men looked into the bottom of the laundry cart and told me Dave said he was sorry. He then injected me with something and my world went black.


I woke some time later bent over at the waist and tethered in place by heavy leather straps with my arms pinned behind me. I was naked and two large milking cups were attached to my now huge swinging breasts and taking turns sucking at them aggressively as I watched the milk from them traveling through the attached clear tubes. I couldn't remember how I got here, and at first thought it was a nightmare, but after several seconds I recognised the barn I was in as belonging to one of my customers. There was a large diameter feeding tube deep in my open mouth, and I was suckling on it out of instinct as I was starving, and was happy to realise that the feed tasted good.

I regained more of my senses and realised I had probably been here for some time as it would be impossible for my normally small breasts to get this large very quickly. I looked around from my bent over position to see hundreds of women in similar positions happily getting milked, and something else at the same time as they rocked back and forth. I then felt a warm hand on each of my ass cheeks, and although I couldn't turn around with the feeding tube forced into my mouth, I recognised Dave's voice behind me. He told me softly that I had been here for months as the whole world was looking for me, after I had been turned into a milker and safely hidden among thousands of other milkers.

Dave told me the others and he couldn't take the chance of my talking and it was either this or just dump me into the ocean as shark food. He told me the others thought there would be some irony in this method of making me disappear, and that they over ruled his objections several times. He said he always found me sexy, but even more so this way as I felt his naked hairy thighs against mine and he pushed into me from behind. I didn't realise he was so well hung, or that I was so ready for him, and as he pushed all the way in and I came off grunting around the feeding. I had never came so quickly in my life, and wondered if the bovine growth hormones affected the other milkers the same way.

Dave was grunting and pumping into me, as if my orgasm was of no concern to him and his desires, and I realised the other milkers were moving the same way I was now, and must also be getting entertained by some hidden device. I came a second time and clamped down on him, forcing him to cum as well and overfill me wonderfully. He never pulled out, but bent over my back so he could whisper into my ear that I was just given a special injection so I would be fully aware of what was happening to me, unlike the other blissfully unaware milkers around me. He said that was all he could do for me other that placing a C grade tag on me for when I went to auction in several weeks. He said I still couldn't talk, but I could escape from whatever farmer bought me easily enough.

Dave stood up and grabbed me firmly around my hips and picked up where he left off with his again hard self, much to my delight. He pounded into me for some time, and several orgasms of my own before he filled me again. He then slapped my ass affectionately and dressed, and I wondered if I would ever see him again.


I lost track of time waiting for my shipment overseas, the same one that I had arranged for thousands of other milkers in the past. I could see the C grade tag on my ear in the reflection of my drinking water bucket, and at least I knew I would have a chance as Dave had suggested...

One night about fifty of us older milkers were pulled out of our normal routine and instead of sleeping in the barn we were walked past it on our way to a cattle trailer. Each of us walked past an inspection team and I alone was stopped and inspected thoroughly, along with my grade C tag. There were hands all over me pulling and prodding and the chief inspector told the others that he didn't care what my bar code said, that I was grade A+ and my ear tag was replaced to reflect this. I couldn't hide the horror on my face, and obviously couldn't speak up in my defense with my vocal cords clipped as the man with the new tag pointed out to the chief inspector that it appeared that I understood them. They all laughed at that and clipped my new tag to my ear as I was slapped on the ass to hurry me along onto the trailer...



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