Chapter 4
Four
I’m stuck on the rail only for a moment as the bull looks at the yield card, at the raised welts on the backs of my thighs, at the way I’m already leaking through the open sleeve without being touched. He unties me with a smirk and makes me crawl behind him to something he calls the cradle.
My eyes widen in shock as I behold it. The cradle is worse than the bench, made from black steel with a central pole in front of me.
There are metal bars that seemingly lock at any angle.
He forces me onto my back and folds me until my knees are beside my ears and my ass is the highest part of my body.
Ankle cuffs lock to rings above my head.
The hoof-mitts clip to the same bar so my arms are pinned useless beside my face.
A wide strap cinches my lower ribs. Another crosses my upper chest and mashes my heavy tits together and upward so the nipples point at the ceiling.
I can barely breathe even before he pulls on the ropes attaching the cradle to the ceiling and I am hoisted into mid-air.
The sensation almost knocks the wind out of me.
My spine is a hard curve. My cunt and ass are offered straight up. Milk runs from both nipples in thin, hot streams that slide down between the compressed swell and pool in the hollow of my throat, warm and sticky, sliding into the corners of my mouth.
I’m now on level with his waist and he smacks my ass hard, making me spin on the axis. I can’t believe the position I’m in, but the shock of the situation makes me submit further than I ever have. I would do anything he orders.
He takes the tail-plug out only long enough to replace it with something larger.
The base locks to a short chain fixed to the cradle, just long enough that every tiny twitch tugs it deeper into my ass as I sway in the air.
He ties it to a stake in the floor, to hold me in place like a boat’s anchor.
The vaginal sleeve comes out next. What goes in is a dual shaft, one fat length locked inside me, the other standing up so a second heavy vibrator can be clamped to it.
A third unit, smaller and vicious, is strapped over my clit with a band that bites the soft skin of my mound.
Nipple clamps close tight enough that milk has to force its way past them in thin, burning jets.
Wires run from the clamps. A low current waits in them, almost making me scream with the jolts hitting my raw areolas.
Then he fills my mouth to stop my whimpering.
I drag one raw breath and he puts the dildo back in my mouth, thick enough that my jaw screams around it, long enough that the head seats in my throat and stays.
I can’t swallow properly. Spit runs. I gag in shallow, helpless waves as I try to hold off my gag reflex.
He steps back only far enough to finish the rest of the rig, leaving that heat and weight in my throat like a stopper.
Night-lines clip to the breast cups over the clamps. Trickle setting. Just enough to keep the ache alive. He switches everything on at once without mercy, making me scream around the giant cock stuffed down my throat.
The clit vibrator locks on high and stays that way.
The internal shaft rolls a deep pulse against my front wall without pause.
The plug in my ass answers with a slower, heavier throb that jerks the chain.
The current in the clamps bites in irregular snaps.
The pumps sip at my tits, taking my milk in agonizing slowness.
The cock in my mouth swells and eases with every attempted swallow, a constant gag.
I stare at him wild-eyed as he turns off the lights and starts to walk away. I beg and beg and beg, but it comes out as nothing but gargles. The clit vibrator seems to turn up a notch and I come violently before he even reaches the door.
It’s barely pleasure. It’s more like a seizure. My body slams against the straps. Milk sprays past the clamps. A thick rush bursts from my cunt around the locked shaft and soaks the cradle. I scream around the cock in my throat and choke on it.
As I try to recover, I already feel the second one building. The door seals. The amber light stays. The machines do not stop.
“Wait!” I choke, but the door slams shut.
The second orgasm hits while I’m still shaking, trying to recover from the first. The third piles on top of it.
I lose the space between them. Each peak wrings more milk out of me, more slick out of me, more noise around the thick shaft stretching my throat.
The smell is sweet and animal and mine. The cradle goes wet.
The floor under it goes wet. Fluid runs down my folded belly into my hair.
I squirt until my thighs cramp from the strain of being bent in half.
I squirt until the sound of it is the only clock I have.
I beg so loud the room fills with gargled echoes, but no one comes.
My mind starts slipping in ugly little pieces as I lose track of my latest orgasm, my eyes rolling deep into the back of my head as every muscle in my body spasms. The sounds from my mouth are no more intelligible than the splats of my squirt and milk on the floor.
I try to hold on to my name and it feels like a word from a lecture I failed.
I try to hold on to Dr. Rust and even that becomes just another man who sent me here.
I moo around the cock because the human sounds have nowhere to go.
I moo because my chest hurts and the pumps only answer animal noise.
I come again while I am mooing and hate how my body still gives it.
The night keeps going for unknown hours as I unravel mentally and physically.
When the lock finally sounds, I notice there is daylight in the chamber.
I frantically look to the door, my eyes begging and pleading.
The orgasms have dried up, but the stimulation is still there, edging me relentlessly.
The fluid beneath me is obscene and humiliating. I have been reduced to my most animal.
He stands over the ruin he left. I’m still bound, locked, and twitching. My face is a mask of dried fluid. My eyes will not focus. I cannot lift my head. The cock comes out of my throat in a thick, wet slide that leaves me coughing and empty-mouthed and raw.
He shuts the machines off. The silence is almost violent. My body keeps seizing on nothing. Milk still leaks from the clamped nipples in weak threads.
“If you ever misbehave,” he says, calm as a log entry, “this will be your night.”
I should present. I know the shape of it now.
Ass up and holes offered as proof that I have learned my lesson, but once I’m released, I fall to the ground and don’t have the strength to even lift my wet, naked form out of the puddle of my own mess.
I try to get up, but my muscles don’t carry me. I reek of squirt, milk, and sex.
He reaches for the straps to bind me back into the cradle and panic hits like lightning in my spine.
I wrench sideways as hard as I can, lifting myself onto all fours, sobbing, clumsy in the mitts, turning on shaking knees because the idea of that pose for another hour is worse than anything he can put in me.
“Please. Please not that. Please fuck my ass. Please use it. I’ll take it. I’ll take it all. Don’t put me back. Please, Sir!”
I present then, frantic, dropping my chest to the wet slats, shoving my whipped, plugged ass up at him like a pathetic offering, crying so hard the words break.
He looks at me for a long second. “As you wish, my little fuck cow,” he says.
He twists the chained plug out in one brutal pull that makes me scream, and he replaces it with himself before I can breathe.
He fucks my ass as hard as he can as if testing me.
I feel so full I want to burst, my asshole stretching too far too fast as he pushes deeper than anyone should.
I take every brutal thrust as he pushes my face into the mess on the floor.
I hold my breath until he commands, “Lick it, you vile slut!”
The cradle fresh in my mind, I stick out my tongue and lap the floor like a thirsty dog, sobbing as I do, but somehow more turned on than I have ever been in my life.
Each thrust drags over the welts. Each thrust forces a broken sound out of my ruined throat as I lick, lick, lick. Milk jumps from my nipples. My empty cunt clenches and drips. I sob into the slats and keep my ass up because the cradle is still there in the corner of my eye.
“I love it,” I hear myself say, because last time he made me, and because I’m terrified he will stop and put me back. “I love it. I love it.”
The last declaration might actually be true. I feel an orgasm coming even as he reams only my ass. I can’t stop it, despite the utter humiliation, the breaking of my old self. I climax so hard he has to pull me back into place as his seed pulses deep into my rectum, fucking me like a wet rag doll.
When he finishes, his thick and pulsing cock stays buried, a claim left in the hole I begged for.
I stay down. Dripping. Gaping. Marked. Another bull is already waiting his turn.
I present my gaping, ruined asshole, and push my face into the floor before he has to reach for the cradle again.
Maybe I do love this.