This story was written for the following prompt: "A young man works at a holstaur ranch, milking the breasts and cocks of the gorgeous and horny livestock that prefer the human touch over machines."
(Note: Holstaurs are a kind of monster girl with horns and a propensity to produce milk, similar to cows.)
This is quite different to my normal content, so please read the content warnings. I fully understand if this is not your thing, but I hope it's enjoyable to those who read on.
Contains: male on futa, futa women with horns, breast milking, chastity, hormone use, exhibitionism and voyeurism.
Everything is consensual.
"Erm, excuse me?" Mattie said nervously, twirling a lock of hair around one of her short horns. The handsome young man wearing jeans and a button-down with some odd equipment on his belt closed the door to his car and looked over to her.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes..." She looked around vaguely at the gravel parking lot and the industrial structures around them. "I'm, um, supposed to have an interview here, but I don't know what building to go to..."
"Oh, you're... Mattie, aren't you?"
She blinked in surprise. "Yes... How'd you know?"
"I'm Jake." He held out his hand. "We spoke over the phone."
"Oh!" She took the strong grip, her heart fluttering as her weak smile was met with a charming one. "Pleased to meet you in person."
"Likewise." Jake stepped back and glanced at his watch. "Little early, aren't you? The interview's not for another forty minutes."
"Well, um..." She looked at her feet. She didn't want to admit that she knew she'd get lost. "Better early than late? I can just wait somewhere I'm not in the way until you're ready for me."
"Hmm... I was planning on having you tag along for a morning visit anyway. Give you an idea of what you'd be in for. You want to do that now instead of later?"
"Um... sure."
He flashed another smile, his brown eyes warm. "Then come on, I'll show you the barn."
It was a bit of a misleading name. She was expecting... well, red-painted wood and hay bales, even though that was ridiculous - not to mention offensive. The building he led Mattie to was more like an expensive college dorm, and she looked around in awe at the well-stocked common room and kitchen area.
"Everyone has their own room," Jake said, gesturing down the halls at the numbered doors. "They're free to do whatever they want in there. They can also come out here and hang out. We make sure there's plenty of entertainment available. Video games, streaming services, whatever. There's a nice walking path through the woods nearby that a lot of them use, and we're looking into having a pool built. As long as they're here for their morning and evening milkings, they can go into town whenever they like. Special arrangements can be made for vacations... yes?"
Mattie's eyes were locked onto a strange contraption of metal struts, cushions, and loose straps that looked very out of place amid the plush couches and flatscreen TVs. "What, um.... What's that?"
"That's a milking frame," Jake said. "It helps support a holstaur in a convenient position."
"Yeah, but... why is it out here...?"
"We measure an individual's production quantity in different scenarios," he said matter-of-factly. "Some holstaurs do better with an audience."
"O-Oh..." Mattie felt her cheeks grow warm. "Like... oh..."
Jake chuckled. "Nobody's shy around here. Not for long, anyway. Morning, Terry."