The Reprogramming Farm

I OPEN MY EYES SOME TIME LATER to see Mikey grinning down at me.

He jostles away a few men who've gathered around me. I stopped paying attention a long time ago. Men show up, they jerk off on me, or into the opening of the gag in my mouth. Sometimes they grope my tits, other times they tell me all the vile things they'd do to me if only they could. Sometimes they get me to jerk them off, other times they just hose me down with their cocks.

It's hot, but honestly, without Mikey here to see...it leaves me flat.

All I want is their cum.

Or an orgasm. Those are the only things I've been able to think about since he left me here. More mango man-goo, and how good it feels rocking around the plugs inside me and how much I need an orgasm.

But then he's there and it's like everything inside me comes back to life.

He gently tugs the plug from my mouth.

I lick my lips and swallow. "Where the hell have you been?" I say, when the last of the men have left me, grousing and making their way toward the line for the glory-hole woman.

Mikey wipes my hair out of my eyes with a damp cloth. It's sticky and clumped with cum. "Did you enjoy that?"

"Enjoy wouldn't be the word I'd use." I wriggle in the bonds.

When he unties me, I hiss with gratitude, stretching my neck. He pulls me to my feet and I sway unsteadily against him as the blood rushes to my head.

"Are you horny?"

"Yes."

He raises his brows. "No snark, Tara?"

"I'm too tired." I rest my sticky face against his shirt, smearing the cum of strangers on his flannel. "Just fuck me Mikey, please. I feel like my clit is about to explode."

He hums and the vibrations move through me. I like him, I realize suddenly. He gets me on some level I'm not sure anyone ever has before. I'm not in love with him. I don't think that could happen, given the situation. Not to me anyway, but there's something about him that lets me be myself.

"You slept for three days, how tired can you be?"

I shrug. "I'm too tired to fight. I'm horny. I want to cum."

He purses his lips. "Ever had a golden shower."

Sigh. Forget everything I just thought about Mikey. He doesn't get me. I shove away. "Hard no, Mikey. I'm not a goddamned toilet."

He holds his hands up like I'm a police officer, laughing again, transforming his face. I can't help but smile in response.

"Okay, no golden shower. Yet. You might ask for it." His hand settles on my elbow, guiding me out of the room. I notice the short ginger guy staring at us as we go.

"I will not ask for it."

He pushes me through another room and into a big bathroom. Glass, fogged up doors announce the presence of a steam room at the back. It looks like heaven. Clean, unsticky, warm, dark heaven.

I charge toward it. "I am asking for that though. And you'd better fuck me."

He follows me, unbuttoning his shirt as he comes. He wads it up, then takes off his boots, socks, jeans and briefs, sets them on a shelf near the entrance. "Go on in then."

I glance back to make sure he's following me. He'd better be about to fuck me in there.

From the look on my face, he knows what I'm thinking. "The thing is, Tara...just picture it. I'm a healthy guy. I hydrate. My pee doesn't smell strong."

"No."

He steps inside and shuts the glass door behind us. It's dark and I can barely see him in the gloom. I settle onto a bench, laying back, sliding my fingers over my pelvic bone to touch my clit. It feels so good. I scoop some cum from my slippery stomach and glide my fingers over that tiny bundle of nerves.

"Yes. Just imagine it. You're on your knees, looking up at me. You've just taken me in your cunt. Maybe Duane took your ass. You don't care, because it's me who was inside you too. I'm there and you like it best that way. And you like to please me. I kissed you as I came, stared into your eyes, filled you up. You came so hard all over my big dick, you shook and screamed into my mouth. I swallowed your cries."

I sigh, wriggling my hips, flexing against the cum there. My pussy too. I swear, I can feel his cum in me. It's like I know it from the others. His is hotter, slicker and it tingles just a little more.

"And when I finished coming, I scooped it out, fed it to you, rubbed it into your neck and your tits. You lapped it up. And now your mouth is full of me, and cum drips down your thighs, out of your raw and gaping asshole."

I moan, sliding my finger over and around, up and down, making little slippery circles over my clit.

Mikey's finger touches my mouth and I buck, but instantly start to suck. He slides his finger down the back of my throat, flavored with someone's cum. He must have swiped it from my filthy body.

I open for him. My hips buck higher.

"I carry you to the shower, and place you on your knees. You did so well. You belong to me. I want you to know that. I want to claim you, mark you. So when I take my dick in my hands, and point it at you, it just feels right. It's my dick, and you're mine too. And everything that comes out of my dick is yours. You want it."

His fingers slide up and down, coated with cum. I don't love the image he conjures, but there's something, and I'm so close. He scoops more cum from my tits, pushes it into my mouth.

"It starts, steaming hot, and so much of it. More than any one could ever possibly cum, dripping over your shoulders, down your nipples, gushing down your belly, sliding over your clit, in smooth, hot waves. Me, Mikey. It's mine. And I'm giving it to you. Showing you exactly what you are, who you belong to, and that I will do with you exactly as I please, and you will take it, you will like it."

His other hand strokes my nipple, just as the first wave of the orgasm hits. My mind floods with the taste of cum, and the world goes black. I can see it so clearly, feel it so clearly. I want it, but I don't. When I'm done, when the orgasm is over, I fall back limp on the bench. "I don't belong to you."

"Not yet." He's quiet for a long moment. Steam wafts in front of me, and a steady beating drip from the tiled ceiling echoes around the room. "But you could."

I don't understand what he means. And I'm tired. I roll onto my side, letting my eyes droop in the thick, steamy dark. "I want to take a nap."

"You're filthy."

"You made me that way."

"Then let me unmake you that way."

I lie still as he uses a soapy cloth, sliding it over my body. Mikey, when his big hands are hard is sexy, but when his big hands go soft is something else entirely.

When I'm clean, he uses a spray nozzle to clean my butt out too. I squirm at the result, but he just hushes me and carries on like it's not a big deal. I try not to linger on the fact that to him, it isn't. Because I'm probably the hundredth woman he's done exactly this with.

Then he turns the nozzle on my pussy. It's too dark to see the cum going down the drain, but I feel a moment's sick sadness that I didn't get to eat it. I'm losing touch with reality, changing, becoming something else.

"I have to pee," Mikey says.

"Then go," I say.

He stares at me for a long moment, then rises, backs away, steps out of the steam shower and leaves me alone. Part of me is disappointed. Part of me is surprised. Another part is grateful.

"Lay down," he calls out in the echoing din of the room, and I picture him standing with his legs braced wide, his cock aimed at a toilet.

I do lay down, flat on my back on the bench. I even spread my legs wide open, already wet with anticipation of having him inside me.

When he comes back, he doesn't say a word. Just mounts me fast, sliding his cock deep inside me. Upclose like this, despite the dark and the steam, I can see his face. He looks like he's in terrible pain, but he sets up a fast rhythm, strokes it up inside me until I'm breathless too, breathless and panting and thrusting against him, and when I'm right there on the edge, perching at the dive off another cliff, he pulls out.

"On your knees, Tara, my beautiful, filthy little cum whore."

"I was close," I grumble.

"Good. Then later you'll be hungrier for it. On your knees."

I drop down on the hard, wet tiles. Open my mouth. He slams inside so brutally hard, I choke, but his fingers close in my hair, and he holds me still, open and waiting for the next assault. There's a strange degree of respect in the gesture. Mikey knows me now, he knows what I can take and he's not doing anything I can't handle, but there's fear too. He's one fraction of an inch away from hurting me. I can't breathe, all I can do is wait as he holds me there, captive to his cock.

Then he starts his rhythm and I have to focus to time my breaths, keep my throat wide for him, and when he comes, the nasty bastard, he does it down my throat, holding me breathless, my nose all pressed against his pubes. I can't taste a drop. It all goes straight down the hatch.

When he's done and he pulls out, I collapse on all fours in the tile, drool hanging from my lips. "Why didn't you let me taste it?"

"You didn't deserve it."

"Why not?"

He turns off the steam, his motions jagged and I realize he's angry about something. "You won't get anymore for a while."

That makes me freeze and I glare up at him. "Who will you be using then?"

He looks back at me, grabbing a towel from a hook. "Jealous, Tara?"

I shove to my feet. "I asked you a question."

He tosses the towel at me. I make no move to catch it. It bounces off my face and falls to the wet floor.

"Who?"

He cocks his head. "Oh, I see. You want to be in charge, won't let me do whatever I like, but you also don't want to share my dick? I share you all over, but no one touches me but you?"

I pull my chin back. "I didn't say that."

He takes a new towel off a hook, starts toweling my hair, his thick, still-hard cock bumps against my thighs. "You didn't need to. It's all over your face."

I swallow. I'm not sure that's even what I meant, then I picture the redhead, her hair spread over his thighs, him sleeping with his dick in her mouth and I squeeze my fists. "I don't like sharing."

His face tightens for a long minute. "Fine. You want solo dibs on my cock for the rest of your time here, I'll give it to you. But you won't taste my cum until I decide. From now on, it's straight down your throat. Or fast with my dick in your cunt. And no orgasms at all."

I pout. Not even on purpose. It's just a natural reaction. Born of sheer but I want to cum with your dick in my cunt. I'd laugh at myself if it weren't so insane. "What about my ass?"

"I decide." He tugs me out of the shower, and puts me in a flannel shirt. One of his, from the smell. It's massive.

The conversation is too ridiculous. I have no response. "What's with the shirt?"

"You said you were cold. I haven't had time to find you a scarf. I'll get socks when we get there."

I push the sleeves up to my elbows. "Where are we going now?"

"I need a break. We'll spend the night in my room. I'll watch a movie and you can lick my balls."

I smile sweetly at him. "Sounds like heaven." I mean it sarcastically, but somehow, it doesn't come out quite that way. It comes out almost genuine.

He takes my hand and leads me back down to the stables. He has an apartment above them. It's clean, and it smells like him, like spice and laundry and leather. And almost entirely empty. A table in the kitchen with a single chair. A tv and a single chair in the living room. A queen size bed with one bedside table. Such a solitary life for a man who is constantly surrounded by people.

The sight of it makes me sad.

We lay down in bed. When I rest my head on the pillow beside him, he raises a brow. "I wasn't kidding. Get down there and lick my balls, cum-whore."

"Don't call me that?" I rise up on all fours to crawl.

He lands a hard slap to my ass that makes my pussy clench. "I'll call you whatever I want. And that's what you are. My own personal cum-whore for the next nine days."

He slaps me again and I press out against him. He slaps me one more time. "Move it, cunt. Before I change my mind.

Somehow it sounds like a term of endearment from him. If Jay called me cum-whore or cunt I'd have cried and screamed for days, thrown plates around the kitchens, insisted on hours of chatting. But from Mikey, I just grin.

"Slave-driver," I say, but go readily enough. I'm still hoping to taste his cum.

I rest my head on one of his parted thighs. His cock rests against my forehead, and I lap away at the hot, thin wrinkled skin of his balls.

Again that strange sense of euphoric rightness falls over me. I relax into it, letting his leg wrap around my body in an embrace. The tv comes on, his hand settles in my still-damp hair. I don't even know what comes on the radio. My eyes drift shut and sleep tugs me away.

I don't wake up again for what I guess is two hours or so, when his dick his hard and he slides it insistently past my lips, holding my head, caged in his hands. It's hard and fast, utilitarian. He's just using my mouth the same way he might use his fist and a tissue.

He grunts and pants, and pumps more cum down my throat. I'd complain, but I'm too drowsy again.

There's something about having a belly full of hot cum, a hot ballsack pressed against my cheeks, that has me drifting off again almost immediately. When I wake again, he's behind me, his cock inside me. We're both asleep. I feel the soft squish of his cum around the base of his cock and know that somehow, someway, he moved me in my sleep, got himself inside me, pumped me full of cum again.

Sadly, I slept through him using me, fucking me. I'm truly becoming his personal cum dump. I don't know if it's a sign that asleep, my body trusts him, or that I'm becoming far too used to this way of life.

The thought makes me laugh softly in the dark.

Then I scowl. Because I'm horny as hell now, my nipple is like a rock against his palm, and all I want to do is come. I squirm against his cock, but his rock-hard arm holds me still. His breath slides up and down my back like a caress, tickling every hair on the sensitive skin there.

This is torture. True torture.

I spend the rest of the night, wiggling away on his cock, desperate for an orgasm he will not let me have. And when morning comes, I'd hoped he'd let me come, but he doesn't, he simply shoves me onto my belly, his cock still deep inside, and fucks me so hard and so fast, I don't even have time to think about coming.

"Clean me up," he says. "It's time to start your morning."