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!
