The Reprogramming Farm

ENOUGH.

"Are you seriously still pouting because I said no to you peeing on me?"

He cocks his head. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Because I'll do it. You can pee on me if it will get you to stop being such a dick."

His lips part, a weird smile moving across his face. His stomach muscles clench and I swear his dick gets a little bigger. "I'm going to remember you said that."

His hand closes around the back of my neck, pulling me down.

I slap at his forearm. "Only if you agree to start letting me come and..." I look away, biting my lip. I still can't quite bring myself to admit it.

His grip on my neck softens, and he pulls me up so I'm lying on his chest. He strokes my hair out of my face. "I don't want to pee on you if you don't want me to pee on you. That's not why I'm not letting you come or eat mine."

"Why then?"

I try to ignore the way my whole body tingels at the warm look in his eyes.

"You still think you're in charge around here."

"You keep telling me I am."

His mouth twists. "When I have I ever told you that?"

"When you ask me if I want something. When I ask for something and you give it to me. When you tell me this is all for me."

"Thats is all true. But you're biggest job is to stop feeling ashamed of yourself for wanting my cock. For craving my cum."

I sit upright, straddling him. "Okay. Then I'm not ashamed. I want your cock. I crave your cum."

He sighs, and I think he feels the same draw to me that I feel for him, because he reaches up and toys with my nipples. Both of them, strumming at them like he's a fiddler and I'm his plaything. "It's not isolated to me though. You want cum. Generic cum. Any cum."

I nod happily, in part because it's true, but also, this is what I need him to see. A slut, accepting and collecting...cum. "All I can get."

"Do you see a future for yourself where one man can supply you with enough?"

I think about it. Narrow my eyes. "I will never touch Jay again."

"I'm not talking about Jay." He thrums his thumbs over my nipples, and I arch against him, like a spoiled cat. "Another guy. Picture a normal guy. With normal guy balls and a normal guy dick."

I frown.

"Would you be content to suck his dick once in the morning and take a puny load in your pussy before bed?"

I picture a little penis. With a tiny amount of disgusting bitter cum. Cum that feels and tastes like phlegm. I shake my head. "I like cum that tastes like mangos." Now, because I want to, I pull away from his pinching fingers. My breasts form cones as I pull away, because he doesn't let go. They burst free with a pop and a jiggle, and I lower myself down to his weeping hard penis. It tastes like mango. I worship it with my tongue. This is a perfect penis. Long and fat, with a broad head. Soft as silk, and as hard as the wooden desk I leaned on the very first time he ever touched me. "I like your cum best of all."

He draws in a long, slow breath, lets it out slow, like a hiss.

I take him in deep, suck at him like a vacuum, reach down between my thighs, scoop his last load from my pussy, and smear it all over his big hard cock, then attack it with my mouth, sucking it all, sighing and cooing against him, making sure I know just how much I love that cock. I gag on it and push myself deeper. I live for his cock, because in that moment I do, I am the slut I want him to think I am.

His fingers close in my hair. "There you go again, taking charge, taking cum when I told you you couldn't have any."

I rear up, glaring at him. "Pee on me then. Let's go, right now."

He shakes his head fast, like he's trying to clear his head. "What the fuck does pee have to do with anything."

"That's what this is about, isn't it. That's when you got mad at me."

"No. Jesus, you make no sense. I don't give a fuck if I pee on you or not. That was just me establishing what your limits actually are. The fact that you came thinking about it is pretty fucking telling though, don't you think."

I remember. "I still said no. And then you got angry."

"Not about that. I was angry that you acted like I was some kind of monster for daring to consider letting some other cunt have my cum."

I pout. It's not feigned at all. I am genuinely put out at the idea of any cunt but mine have his perfect beautiful masterpiece of a cock near it, nevermind that I won't be here soon. "But I want your cum."

He throws his head back and tosses his arm over his eyes, a wry laugh sending his shoulders shaking. "I don't know if you're the hottest or the craziest thing I've ever touched."

That hurts. More than I'd like to admit. This man shouldn't have the power to hurt me so badly. I stiffen, tug my leg off his torso so I'm not straddling him anymore. "I thought you said I wasn't crazy. That I should embrace that side of me."

He moves the arm off his eyes. "I meant it."

"But you think I'm crazy?"

"I think you're making me crazy."

"Why?"

A shoulder lifts. "How would you feel if your version of the perfect man was willing to do anything you asked, anything, just to lick your pussy. Didn't care about anything else, they just wanted to lick your pussy and not have to share it."

I make a face. "I'd be grossed out. Oh god, are you saying I gross you out."

His brows draw together. "No."

There's a long moment of silence. "Mikey, I'm really confused. And now you're scaring me. I had a life that admittedly is over. I won't go back to Jay. He betrayed me. I don't know what to do with myself now, but you just made me see that I don't think I'll ever be content, not without...not without." I throw my hands up in the air, refusing to say what I'm actually thinking which is that I'll never be content with a man who doesn't make pints of mango cum for me every day...maybe multiple men who do that, and without a man with a perfect penis . "And you've been telling me how wonderful I am just as I am, cum-obsession and all, but not you're saying that's bad?"

"It's not bad. You are perfect, exactly as you are. The problem is me. I'm a bad therapist for you."

I shake my head. Mikey is the best therapist. With the nicest cock. And the sexiest eyes. I picture fat Duane. The way Mikey makes sure no one takes my ass unless I'm ready and has them go easy on my throat. "You are the best therapist for me."

"No. Anyone else would have had you strapped into the glory hole for six hours for daring to demand a scarf and some magazines. They'd have tried to save your marriage by having Jay fuck your ass, they'd have forced you to sleep with his dick in your pussy and they would not have dressed you in their clothes and taken you into their own beds. I'm breaking my own protocols here. And exactly what you just described is why this is a problem. It's Jay's cum you should be addicted to. Not mine."

At some point during his little speach, my breathing get really fast. And my nostrils flair, the air whooses in and out. "That is why anyone else would have been the worst therapist for me. They'd have broken me. I wouldn't have been addicted to Jay's cum. I'd have been too destroyed to fight." I stick out my lower lip. "Will you just pee on me so I can have an orgasm?"

He made a soothing noise in his throat. "I don't want to pee on you, Tara. I wasn't pissed at you. I was pissed at me for having such a hard time controlling myself. The day you beg me to piss on you is the day I piss on you."

I sigh. Infinitely grateful we've gotten that out there. Content, I drop my mouth down to his cock, suck it deep, watching as his eyes roll back. "You have gotten very good at that in your time here. But it's not your mouth I want. I want your tight little asshole, then I'm going to plug it and you're going to spend the rest of the day with my cum locked in your asshole tight. So go to the bathroom now, clean yourself up, and come back to me like a good little cunt, prepared to cum all over me."

I stare at him for a long moment. "You'll let me come?"

The corners of his eyes crinkle. "Yes."

I let it all settle. My nipples burn and my clit throbs at the very idea. I want to wear his cum inside me like a badge of honor, a little tingling reminder of what I am now. To him. To me. I'm a slut for this man. Maybe for any man but Jay if that's what Mikey wants me to be. At least, I remind myself, for as long as I'm here at this bizarre farm.

Moving slowly, I bend down and take one last long loving lap at the tip of his cock, graze my teeth over the head, and rise to go to the bathroom.

I pause just outside the door, swipe my hand between my thighs and get the last globs of his cum, lick them from my palm.

When I shut the door, he's laughing.

I lean against the wall for a long minute.

He's where I need him to be. He trusts me. Some night—maybe not tonight or tomorrow, I will leave after he's just pumped a load in my pussy. I will steal clothes from him, sneak away while he's sleeping. By the time he wakes up with a boner and a full pair of balls, two or three hours will have passed and I will be gone, miles away, because I lied. I can picture a world in which I meet a normal man, where I suck his tiny dick and swallow his nasty-tasting load in the morning. And at least in that world I will be free to do as I choose. For some reason, I'm crying, so hard my ribs hurt and my chest heaves. I have to turn on the water to block out the sound. I don't want him to hear. So I shove my fingers in my pussy, scoop out any remaining molecules of cum I might have missed and suck that off my fingers too. As always, the delicious goo makes me happy enough to forget that the warm smiling man who makes me feel like a goddess and shoots nectar from his perfect cock doesn't really belong to me.

I do my thing, clean my ass inside and out, my pussy too, and smelling like fresh soap, I head back.

When I open the door, Mikey is in the kitchen, naked, sipping from a mug of coffee, his massive dick jutting out like a flag pole.

I surprise us both. I drop naked to the ground, my wet hair splaying across my back, and crawl across the floorboards, rub my face in his ball sack.

He sips his mug, strokes my hair.

I sigh.

I won't lie. I'm honestly not sure I've ever in my entire life been happier than I am in that moment, on my knees, at his feet, with his hairy balls all over my face.

He finishes his coffee, sets down the mug, pulls my face away from his nuts by my hair, looks at my face. "That was lovely."

I smile up at him. He looks like a guy who's spent his life working with his hands outside, but he talks sometimes like a professor.

"Now stand up, turn around, bend over and spread your ass cheeks wide."

I suck in a deep breath. He sounds like a bastard too.

I follow his orders.

I can feel his eyes and the shame, bent over like this, a slave presenting my tender asshole, a place I've never even seen that I hope is pretty to him. He leaves me like that for a while. Long enough for the cold to settle on my skin. For the silence to spread. For the doubt to set in.

And then I feel a finger pressing against my ass. He spits. The wet hits me right in the center of my hole, like my ass is a bullseye. I feel insanely proud that this man, this man who's going to give me his cum, can spit so well. That makes no sense but its true. That's how deep his hold on me goes. Then he spits again, and it's his cock that presses against my ass, and then I can't think.

He didn't prepare me this time like he has the other times. This time, my ass and pussy are empty. There's no fat slippery load to smooth the passage. Two gobs of spit can only go so far. It hurts. And he isn't gentle. He uses his cock like it's a battering ram, gripping me with a hand wrapped around each of my biceps, rocking me back and forth, thrusting in deeper and deeper, until I'm boiled down to nothing but my burning, filled-up ass.

He turns me, so I can rest my face on the table, and his thrusts get deeper, but his precum has started flowing, smoothing the glide, and now, I feel the pressure building.

"Do you want a dildo for that pussy, cunt?"

No. I shake my head. I don't want anything but him.

"Rub your clit then. Make yourself come."

I make circles on my clit, my fingers dancing.

"You have a beautfiul ass, Tara." He strokes a loving hand along a globe, gets a grip, his fingertips digging in deep, shakes my asscheeks up and down, all the while plowing his dick into my bowels. "Tight and hot. I used to have this dream. When I was a kid, I'd picture my wife. She had an ass like yours. And she loved my dick. My dick was her god. She'd suck it all night if I let her. You'd think I'd get over that, working here, doing what I do." He pulls his dick all the way out. Rams it back in so hard, my mouth falls open and I make a deep lowing sound, like a wounded beast. Then again. Again. Again. Long, slow pull out, and then reeming back into me so hard, it's like there's nothing left of me, like I'm dissolving away and there's nothing to do but let that cock ram it's way in deeper. And deeper.

His hands roam up, stroking the narrow part of my waist. "And you may have a nice, round ass, but you've got the smallest waist. I can practically touch my fingers together." He holds me that way, pistoning his hips, fucking my ass the way he's fucked my pussy, like it can take the most brutal beating he can give it. A bead of drool slides down my lower lip, stretching into a thread that catches the morning light streaming through the window. "Skinny. You're so fucking skinny, but you've got that ass, and these tits." He cups them, uses them for leverage, like they're handles designed for holding me still under the powerful onslought of the battering ram of his cock in my ass. "And you're unlike anyone I've ever known. The women who come through here, they like cock, or they like orgasms, or they like being ordered to do stuff, but they don't live for cum, they don't rub their faces in my balls and make me feel like I'm a fucking god on earth, they don't willingly climb under a table and lap at my balls like it's crack, they don't beg for me to let them swallow my cum, they don't scoop it out of their cunts or their assholes. They don't make me feel like the ruler or the world by laying their head in my lap. You," he draws out the word, keeping time with his own slow thrusts. "Are special, and fuck if I think Jay ever deserved you."

He thumbs my nipples idly. "If I had my way, I'd keep you here. I'd sleep with my dick in your ass or your mouth all night. Fuck your ass first thing each morning, let you walk around, knowing this tight ass is full of cum. My cum. I'd fuck your pussy the next time my balls needed draining. Maybe let you eat it, or I might just watch it slide down your thighs slowly, for the rest of the day. Then I'd strap a dildo inside you attached to a leather belt with a padlock on it. I'd let the whole place use your mouth. But I'd keep your pussy just for me. My own personal dump. The rest of the day, I'd use your mouth or ass as I saw fit. I'd let you live on cum. Make sure you got all the loads you needed."

I picture that life. Picture the way I'd feel walking through a room, all those men looking at me, my pussy locked off limits. For him only, and it happens. The most intense orgasm, like the universe exploding in the original act of creation, spearing outward like rays from an epicentric sun, only my clit is the sun. Or maybe it's my ass. I don't know. Every muscle I have tightens. I scream out like a woman giving birth, like I'm in terrible pain, and delicious ecstasy, like I could die now, happy and content, becuase this man has fucked my ass, and I need nothing else. Ever. And it just keeps coming. Torential and violent shudders that rack my body, and he's with me. Right there. Grunting and cursing and spewing cum into my bowels like a firehose, white hot, simmering and boiling inside me.

I think maybe what I said earlier was a lie.

The other therapists, they couldn't have broken me. They'd would have destroyed me.

What Mikey just did, was break me, like a goddamned stallion finally broken to saddle, he just blew through my every last hope of getting away. I don't even know if I want to. In that moment, I want the life he described. I want to sleep with my mouth around his dick. I want to wake with him in my pussy, my ass. I want to swallow his cum and live off it for eternity. Cum and nothing else, like a wierd fucked-up cum vampire.

I sag on the table, while he finishes up his thrusting. Eventually, he goes still, and leans down to rest his forhead on the table beside me, the skin of his thighs still tight to my ass, his abdomen flush to my back. He presses a kiss to the skin just below my ear.

"I couldn't be like this for him. Maybe not for anyone else," I say.

He's silent for a long moment. His heart thumping against my back, his breathing slowing. Then he turns me, so his lips could touch mine. "I know," he whispers, and for some reason, he sounds sad about it.

He pulls from me with a sigh. "You've got cocks to suck in the dining room."

I don't move. I want to ask. I don't dare ask.

But then I don't have to. A dildo shoves it's way in my pussy. And he locks it in place with a leather harness. "At least for today. This pussy is mine."

An aftershock of orgasm ripples through me.