Milk Barn Horror Pt 05

EZEKIEL VISITS THE BARN

Early one morning Tracy wakes before the others. Her breasts hang painfully. The palest moonlight finds its way through cracks in the roof, around her is inky blackness. The only sounds are the breathings of other cows. Scattered dreamy moans.

Shuffling footsteps pass behind her kneeling body. She prickles to be touched, but no touch comes. Soon there are feminine gruntings and quiet pleadings from secret dark.

Tracy senses long rows of unseen cows on either side of her, staring straight ahead or sleeping. Sometimes at night, lights go by outside, revealed through cracks in ancient siding. Once the black cat came and perched on her hips. When he'd landed on her back it made Tracy scream. But the weight stayed in one spot and soon a rhythmic motion settled in and it came to her... the cat was licking itself.

Now a touch on her naked ass makes her jump. She does not try to move away, she is resigned to being helpless. Familiar brush of fabric on her flared hip. A kneeling presence beside her. Hard fingers grip her nipples. The downward pull on her teats, the familiar steady rhythm. Her robed, hooded milker with only bones for hands. She has given up being horrified by what she saw that first morning. There is nothing she can do.

Occasionally she lets go a small bleat of pleasure. Before it is done, she faintly sees the hands that pull her teats, feels their rhythm. A warm glow rises in her weasel.

Her milk is out. The bony hands rove her flesh, beneath her belly, under her abdomen. Probing on her fat woman lips in the inky dark, prickly heat wets her. The finger in her rectum remains motionless for endless minutes as her anus clutches. The presence whispers away. Tracy is left alone, her sex humming.

Pitch black in the barn, there is very little sound. Almost settled back to sleep, Tracy notices her body changing position. The grip of invisible concrete has her, enslaved to frozen mobility. What causes that? It's not machinery. When it stops, Tracy's knees are wide apart, her face and chest rest on the platform.

Rasped breath comes near, a sound she's never heard. She is touched back there, her lovely genitals so open. Hands on her hips, something probes her wet lips. She moans and wriggles as a thin penis enters her. Finally! It slides into her hotness but remains still, pushed all the way up. She feels her muscles adjust, grip the penis hard. A pulse of pleasure causes her to cry out.

The penis inside her flexes. She has the impression of a blind man's cane, tiptoeing around her inner dark. A wave of strangeness washes her mind. The thing is probing inside the ring of her cervix. Predawn light makes outlines visible, cows sleeping around her. Tracy cannot see behind, so who is it? A bull? A cowboy?

The odd probing continues, the hips behind press hard to her soft cheeks, his slender penis moves on its own. Now, the skinny hard dick withdraws and begins to fuck her. Hips pressed hard against her open ass, the penis is all that moves. How can that be? Like being fucked by a pogo stick, it goes on for a long time. But it feels so good to have someone fucking her, very hard and very fast. At last. Why have I been ignored? But maybe it's is a machine. It's the first time anyone has come to her. She expected it would be one of the bulls, but senses it is neither of these. Cows are beginning to stir in the rising daylight.

Her unknown lover raises her knee. High and to the outside, he swings her leg up to rest on his shoulder.

Legs spraddled wide in the air, she turns her face and sees him.

Ezekiel.

He is fully clothed in his bib overalls, checkered long-sleeve shirt, familiar straw hat and dark glasses. His strange dick fucks into her energetically, toothless mouth agape, his breath a rasp. It's like a small version of being fisted by Serge in the exam room. It is orange dawn inside the barn. The other cows are crawling past the copulating pair, staring open-mouthed as they hurry to the door.

Ezekiel's breath comes in labored gasps. Although her slick tunnel grips him tight, Tracy feels almost nothing. He continues the repetitive pounding until all the cows have left the barn. Tracy sees their naked asses crawling away, their hard, fearful glances, unwilling to look but powerless not to.

Ezekiel's tentacle plunges in and holds her tight, she feels something way in there pulsing. A sudden orgasm takes her, rising up from nowhere, forcing her hips to thrash. She knows he can see her brown starfish, her heavy breasts filling again with milk.

An abrupt orgasm makes her breasts spray and he lifts her torso to his face. The strange hollow tongue stretches its opening over a nipple, the fleshy pipe sucks it in. She cannot see his eyes through the dark glasses. She guesses he might have been burned in a fire, his face...

When he releases Tracy, her body collapses to the stall's platform. For a long time after he shuffles away, she cannot move.

At last she rises alone to make her way unsteadily from the empty barn.

In the distance Tracy sees the other cows. The herd numbers more than 120, moving in their morning games, talking together in groups. Tracy walks that way, stretching her body after the long night frozen in place, Ezekiel's strange zombie-fuck. It was like a mechanical robot, with attachments.

In the pasture, she approaches a cluster of cows she knows. They look at her strangely. Without warning, Tracy's knees buckle. She's on the ground, on her back.

Her body locked in frozen mobility, she goes through the greeting submission Ezekiel taught her. But he's not here. Desperately she looks for him. Is he coming to fuck her again, in broad daylight among the other cows? She cannot see.

On her back, knees raised, her fleshy bottom wags from side to side in the submission pose. Many little cows kneel around her. One plunges her face to Tracy's crevice, licking violently, hungry tongue seeking. Two others pull hard at her long nipples, drawing into their mouths the warm milk. Her eyes close and she hums.

More than ten of them, Tracy guesses, grope and fondle her, stroke and poke her everywhere, looking at her bottom and her tongue-ravaged womanhood. Just as the vet did while she was on the exam table. Tracy is shaking and shivering under all the touching, the knowing tongues that pleasure her, two or three lovely faces shoving at her open cunt. She is helpless as the cows change places. Some of these girls she doesn't like, and would not allow to touch her. But here they are, licking her wildly, all who had seen Ezekiel thrusting into her spread rump when they woke up.

They all want something. As orgasms shake her one after the other, she knows. It is Ezekiel they want to taste, it is Ezekiel's precious fluids deep in Tracy's belly they want for their own.

THE FARMER'S WIFE

Early one morning, after bony fingers empty her breasts and leave her nipples sore, Tracy is lifted from her stall by four strong hands. The barn is pitch black. Hot flesh rubs her. Lifted by the arms, her body dangles between two huge men.

Outside the barn, an ancient moon melts night's deepest dark. She scarcely sees the dim forms of two black bulls who carry her, her flesh a pale nimbus in the gloom. She's carried beneath the high bare bulb outside the precinct station, toward the main house where no lights shine. Between their bodies, a perfect feminine shadow stretches ahead of them; spread-eagled, it writhes upon dark earth.

She fears they are taking her to be punished, but she is deposited on her feet in the living room of the farmhouse, a place she's never been.

"Stand here," one of the bulls orders. Turning away, his erect meat slaps her hip. Marked by his white snail-smear, she is left alone.

Tracy can move. No frozen mobility grips her, but she obediently remains where she was left, although she looks around. She needs to pee but knows she must hold it.

The room is very nice. The furnishings are rich, from a distant time. Tall, glass-fronted bookcases, a polished writing desk gleam in lamplight. A wide settee, richly upholstered, with ornate wooden legs and soft cushions. Paintings and framed needlework on the walls.

Footsteps behind her. It is the gray-haired farm wife, Mamie. Her breasts bulge under her flower-print kitchen apron. She approaches with a warm smile.

"Tracy dear, we are so happy you could join us today. It is a prophesy. Ezekiel will be with you. But first we must make you ready. Please sit." The short woman guides Tracy to the rich settee, positions her on the middle cushion, on the edge. She stands over Tracy, smiling down on her.

"Will you lie back for me dear?"

Tracy, uncertain, starts to scoot back, but the woman pulls her fanny forward to the sofa's edge. "Let your shoulders lie back for me, my beautiful girl."

Tracy does as instructed, her back settles into soft pillows. She keeps her knees together, embarrassed that this old woman sees her naked. Although she was just milked, her football breasts drip white fluid down her ribs.

The woman hands her two black cuffs with buckles. "For your wrists, Tracy." The obedient girl fastens the bright buckles herself.

Kneeling, the woman attaches thick leather cuffs to Tracy's slender ankles. Her four limbs have shining metal D-rings.

The woman takes Tracy's right arm and pulls it down and to the side, with a short rope through the D-ring at her wrist, attaches it to the stubby leg of the settee. "Is that alright, dear?"

Tracy says nothing, faintly smiles. The woman holds Tracy's left hand in hers. Onto her fourth finger she slips a worn gold band. Mamie pulls the arm wide, ties the wrist cuff to the settee's leg on the other side. Tracy's arms are open wide, her wobbling breasts unprotected.

Mamie steps back, smiling down at Tracy, who keeps her knees tight-pressed. The old woman leaves the room.

Three of the blacks enter, meat erect. They turn the lights down low. By the ankles the big men open her long legs, stretching them to the high corners of the settee. They clip the D-rings to ropes that pass over the back. They smile with lidded eyes at the captive V-spread limbs. Her animal split is wide to them, little-girl bald, the backs of her bare legs pulled tight. Her body is a golden sacrifice. The men tower above her helpless beauty, stroking heavy meat logs. She knows she is about to be raped by three bulls. But why in the house? Her back arches in invitation, ponderous breasts hang above her open cunt. Her weasel lips drool warm fluid over her anus.

I didn't do that!

Tracy feels a stab of fear. It was not her intentions, not her own muscles that moved her. She is horrified at losing control over her own body.

One bull kneels in front of her open crotch, pulling on his meat. He spits on her sex. It is then she knows her petals are open, her body an inviting tunnel. Dark, warm, wet. The man's pink mouth engulfs her flesh. Her hips go wild as the dark tongue penetrates. But it is her hips moving on their own.

Tracy screams, but not from pleasure. She's a terrified sex puppet. The other men kneel on the cushions, their pink mouths find her luminous, leaking glands.

The breast-sucking and clit-nibbling begins to work on her. The hip-thrusts are hers now, what moves her are the hot sensations the black bulls pour into her sensitive nerves. The one eating her cunt scoots his crotch up to hers, she's certain now she'll get a real man's thing up her hungry weasel. But the asshole is teasing her! He lays his black schlong in the wet furrow between her fat lips, the image reminds her of parting the Red Sea. The meat log draws back and forth, like stroking a violin. And like a violin, Tracy begins to sing.

Her voice rises in a graceful arc of glittering sound, urgent shimmering whines and fevered pleadings. He teases her, she is a slave to what he gives and what he withholds, all she can do is watch the heavy thing stroke across her clit, longing for the moment when it will be shoved hard up her bovine twat.

Fuckmewithit fuckmewithit fuckmewithit.

The man pushes his balls to her weasel and grunts out white spludge which spurts warm up her dominated belly. He is finished, and trades with another bull, who licks her for a while and then strokes her vibrating button with his heavy instrument. Tracy comes hard on it, watching hungrily the squirting tip. Her fevered gyrations throw the bull over the edge, he showers white cum on her from face to navel.

By the time the second man laces her naked flesh with sticky icing, she is beyond frustrated. Tied in a V, her hips seek thin air in hungry surrender. Sweat-slick, she is beside herself with lust.

The third man kneels, sops his blunt slab through the folds of her wet weasel, slithers the tip downward to press against her immodestly gaping doggy blossom. The wild thought crosses her mind that she should grow a tail.

That fleeting instant becomes a universe of flaming hell when the uncaring monster meat slithers its unbending way up her bad girl hole. Her throat constricts. She cannot scream, is unaware that the black man is talking to her.

"Pump me off with your kooze, child. I can be here all week. Make my dick fill you up.

Trembling in the pain of his sudden entry, Tracy summons her will and her anus gives a strong pull on the man's stiff penis. He groans and smiles with a heavy-lidded gaze.

"Hundred more like that right there."

Her body twerks in the bindings, her stuffed poop chute drags on the cock like a fine cigar, sucking the thing to the door of her second sphincter, which brings from her a goat-like bleat. The man does not move, looks down on this speared girl-octopus as his semen rises up his meat tube which searches the funky hole that's begging to be filled. Tracy feels herself going over, her sphincters pulsing in unison with the spears of burning love that squirt and drool into her dark chasm.

When she next opens her eyes another figure stands there. Had he seen?

It must be him, although she has never seen him naked. His extreme height, his straw hat and dark glasses. He is misshapen and thin. Yellowed flesh like tobacco-cured deer hide hangs from his long bones, he doesn't outweigh the helpless girl before him.

With slitted eyes, Tracy humps her crotch upward, begging with eyes and kooter for his member, however misshapen. When she looks, he is not erect, the thing dangles useless and thin, although she notes it nearly reaches his knees. He kneels before her, begins stroking his tip in her semen-slick lips. Soon it's hard enough to slither into her hot animal cunt.

Tracy closes her eyes and sighs. They certainly make a girl work hard around here for a little cock! Ezekiel's chest falls on her slick breasts and his bony hands reach under and grip her buttocks, pulling their pubes tight together.

It is then she feels the heat in her womb, as though a nuclear bomb explodes in slow motion. His penis grows, she feels pressure as the thing opens up, she imagines it expanding into a fat fire hose within her. Again, as when he fucked her in the barn, she feels the probing at her cervix, as when Serge fisted her deep inside. The core of her explosion grows, her eyes go dim even as her hips accelerate a lewd dance beneath the flaccid body.

She no longer controls her eyes, cannot keep them open. Blind to his presence, she feels the impossible forcing of her deepest gate, a widening channel that now allows her lover in his entirety to enter her womb. At a spraying nipple she feels the odd hollow tongue fit itself to her, suck hard, then coil delicately around her teat in a series of hard pulls, as though a newborn calf were pumping her for life itself.

Her uterus fills with flooding spunk. Her waning consciousness closes on Ezekiel, he's siding down her body, a balloon deflating into dark distance, where her mind follows and her world spins away.

CONFINEMENT

When Tracy wakes, she lies under a centuries-old stitched coverlet in a comfortable bed. Her window looks out on a cherry tree that, to her mind, should be bare of branch. But there it is, a cloud of pink petals in blossoming regalia.

Vaguely her mind tugs at a fact. What became of summer break, of Thanksgiving? Where is she? Who am I?

Footsteps ascending wooden stairs, clink of glassware. The old woman, Ezekiel's wife. Mamie stands at her door with a breakfast tray. Or lunch, or dinner? Tracy's fogged brain cannot decide. Mamie sets the tray beside her bed with a sweet smile, helps the girl sit up amid comfy pillows. Tracy feels heavy and weak, clumsy in warm quilts. Tracy sips her coffee. Yes! Actual coffee, the first she has tasted since... She cannot say.

The old woman looks at her happily. "You've had quite a sleep, dear. But the doctor says you are very healthy, and coming along fine."

What doctor? I saw the vet last.

Taking a slice of toast, Tracy looks at the glorious tree outside her window.

"It's spring," she says with a golden smile.

Mamie nods. "Nearly summer dear. And your time is at hand."

"My time?"

With a fond smile, Mamie lifts the covers from Tracy's breasts. Beneath a fine nightgown of whitest lace, her middle is a high rounded bulge, her very pregnant tummy hides her legs. She looks at the old woman, questions in her eyes.

Mamie nods. "Yes. Now that you're back with us, you'll spend the rest of your time in the barn with the cows."

Tracy has no need for more answers. It is all too complicated. And too simple. The puzzle pieces lock in place. She says one word.

"Ezekiel?"

The old woman's smile is warm and comforting. Tracy feels the plain gold ring on her finger, and moves to give it back. It belongs to Mamie. But the motherly woman folds her fingers closed.

"For you to keep. You are his now."

Tracy looks at the simple band. It fits her hand well.

Ezekiel. It must have been him. He's the one who bred me. I am nearly to term with a child. His, only his. That's why no other male was allowed to service me. I was Ezekiel's all along.

Tracy sleeps then, pondering many questions. In her dream, memories come, her last glimpse of a naked, baggy-skinned old man with no eyes. Some terrible accident. A fire. The slick hairless face overgrown with scabby flesh where eye sockets would be. The flesh draped from old bones. His penis is shriveled, but his testicles hang like potatoes in a sack. He walks among the crawling cows, feeling his way. Leaning down to smell each one.

She has some feeling for him, this Ezekiel. He had needed her above all others on the Farm, possibly the way he, or someone before him, had once needed Mamie.

The farm wife takes care of her now. Ezekiel is never seen again. The forced mobility is no more, after so many months it is nearly forgotten on the Farm. The cows mostly stay in their stalls all night, but it is the blacks who come to milk them, not the tall figures in hooded robes, and when they are done, the bulls fuck the living daylights out of any girls who suit their fancy.

As her consciousness fades into sleep, Tracy recalls seeing Ezekiel's hat fall off as he sucked her teats, while she lay spread and tied on the settee in the staid downstairs parlor. When his glasses slipped away there were no eyes. And why did he tie her that day, as he breached and bred her fertile body? She had never before been tied at the Farm.

ASCENSION

Mamie helps her downstairs, unsure legs not quite in her control. At the kitchen door Tracy surveys the Farm. It is alive. The trellis above the gate, once a mass of dead vines, is vibrant now with bluebells and snapdragons. Mamie gives Tracy a sideways hug, because of her big tummy, and kisses her on the cheek with a tear in her eye. As Tracy turns to go she feels a tug on her bathrobe. Mamie takes it from her and she stands naked, barefoot and magnificently pregnant in morning sunlight. Her body resembles a carved Venus figurine, a living history ten thousand years old.