Gryphon milk
This story is awful. I wrote ie years ago, at a time when I was really into the milking machine kink. Now I'm only a little bit into it! But the story is still amateurish and badly written. It's also very silly, but sometimes silly is good. Sex doesn't have to be serious. So here's some awful cringy silly smut.
This story is awful. I wrote ie years ago, at a time when I was really into the milking machine kink. Now I'm only a little bit into it! But the story is still amateurish and badly written. It's also very silly, but sometimes silly is good. Sex doesn't have to be serious. So here's some awful cringy silly smut.
Markit landed in the field among the cows, just like any other day. The cows ignored him - just like any other day.
Markit was a gryphon - avian families traditionally favored hard syllables in naming. At one point in the distant past, the very first gryphons had been proud creatures combining the attributes of lions and eagles. That was many generations of cross-species breeding ago, and while Markit's species may be influenced by too many species to identify them all, he clearly was no lion. An eagle, yes, but his rear half was closer to lupine than anything else.
The cows were just cows. Gryphons were one of the few fully quadrupedal species to reliably possess intelligence, and cows certainly were not. They stood, chewing, gradually moving their way towards the shed while remaining seemingly oblivious to all else in the world. Markit did not like the cows, which was a problem for a gryphon born into a farming family. Right now, he was grateful that eagles possessed almost no sense of smell.
There was work to be done though... and other things as well. If Markit's face could flex, he would have smiled. It was time.
The cows knew it as well, starting to move with more aim towards the milking shed. Most days it would be his father, or his mother, or one of his siblings seeing to the milking. Today, they were elsewhere - the whole family away to attend the annual trade show. Market had feigned upset at being left behind to supervise the farm, but the only thing that might interest him less than watchng cows was watching other people talk about cows.
So he stayed, and did his duty - moving behind the cows with wings spread to encourage them. It was easy work - unintelligent as cows may be, they knew the routine, and that the arrival of a gryphon in the field signaled milking time. As the last cow entered the shed, Markit followed and stopped to close the door.
It was time. This wasn't the first time Markit has followed this plan - his first was when he was still in adolescence, confused with hormones and new experiences. It had been a foolish idea then, and it was foolish still - but he was older now, and knew how to make sure he wouldn't be caught. He knew the cameras were broken, and had been for months. He knew the windows were too high to see inside, and that the doors would only open for the identity chip he wore on his leg-band, or for one of those family not due back for another day and a half.
He looked out over the shed. The cows were already lining up, entering their stalls on each side of the aisle. The shed was entirely automated - and had to be, for a family of quadrupedal owners. Gryphons had an edge in travel and brute strength, able to do themselves what anthros would only achieve with heavy machinery, but they lacked the same dexterity needed to fit the cup to a teat. The cows could be largely left to themselves - some farmers even left them to decide their own milking times, but a routine made the process easier to monitor.
The exit was to one side of the cow area - a pull-bar over the fence. Easy for a gryphon to climb over, but impassible for a cow. The way Markit was intended to go now, and should go. On the other side, the raised operator area where he could stand to keep an eye on the milking and be ready to intervene in the event anything went wrong. Not that it ever had.
Markit hesitated, looking from aisle to fence and back. He'd done this before, but still he had to speak softly to himself in reassurance. "No-one else here. No cameras. No-one will ever know, and it will be good."
Caution battled something else in the gryphon's mind, and the something else won. It always did - victory was sealed as soon as he felt the first stiring in his sheath. He followed the cows.
Markit was again thankful for his lack of smell. No doubt the experience would be much less pleasant with it - fourty-three now, lined up each side of the shed. A fourty-fourth ambled past and across to an empty stall, following a long-ingrained routine. As it dipped it's head down over feed trough at the far end a bar slid across to latch the animal in place and the doors of the stall swung closed. Beneath the cow machinery moved into place - the red flash of a laser, the electronic chirp of the identity reader, and the mechanical sound of robotic cups being manouved into position over the animal's udder. The sight of it sent a shiver through Markit's body.
"Last check, now..." Markit's fore-feed flexed to the ground in nervous anticiption as he ran through the list in his head. Doors closed and secure. Camera's still and power lights off. Cows all doing as they should. Fake identity chip stashed in his shoulder-pouch. Excitement.... he felt that growing from his sheath now. Good. The plan wouldn't work without that.
Last chance to back out.
He stepped forward into an empty stall, and laid his head over the feeding trough.
Under normal circumstances, nothing would have happened - without a cow identity implant, the stall would not function. It needed the cow's profile number - milking routine, medical notes, and proof that this really was a cow and not a reckless quadrupedal farmer examining the equipment. For a moment longer Markit's fear conflicted with his curiosity and need - before the machine chirped, and the bar slid into place above his head. The decision was made - no escape now. The doors pushed firmly to his rear - the stall was not quite long enough to hold a gryphon.
Markit, lupine gryphon - now read as Cow #000001, the number on the identity chip he had prepared for this. Cow number one was special, as it had never existed - the very first cow in the shed's records, Cow One was the test cow used by shed computer and by service engineers as a test item. Cow One was not logged, did not show on the herd management interface, and bypassed milk quality testing. Cow One was never supposed to be real, which is why it was so easy for a younger Markit to reconfigure the parameters for Cow One. According to the records, Cow One had three missing teats, and one which needed a custom milking routine to maximise yield. The software would have referred that cow to the vetinarian - if it had not been Cow One.
Knowing what was about to happen, the gryphon still lowered himself defensively as he heard the mechanics beneath him. He knew what was happening there. The laser scan would look beneath him, searching for an udder and teats. An intelligent milker would have immediately recognised the erect male part, but the stall was only a machine: The profile said this was Cow One, with a single teat, and so a single teat is what it saw. And measured. The machine made louder clunking noises as it adjusted, choosing the largest sized cup in the selection and fitting the robotic arm.
The cow in the next stall along let out a moo as its head was freed, and began to move from the stall. The shed was at peak capacity now - the empty stall was swiftly replaced by another, eager for the feed. Did the cows enjoy being milked? Markit could not guess what strange bovine thoughts ran through their small minds, but he knew he did. He tensed in anticipation as the arm moved into place beneath him. Even if he wanted to stop it, he couldn't now - the arm would only follow his movements, and the bar would not release until either time limit or quota were met. He couldn't see it move, but he could hear it, and imagine the smoothly robotic motion. Any moment now...
The cup slid into place, and Markit gasped out a harsh sound. Every time still felt like the first - tight, but smooth inside, a sleeve intended to protect a cow's delicate milk-producing parts. As the gryphon's hips pushed forwards the arm moved the cup with him. As soon as he stilled the suction came. Beside him the sound of the stall machines shifted as a pump engaged at a setting too strong for any cow, and a sudden forceful pull draw upon Markit's captive erection - shifting quickly to a rapid, powerful pulsing as the custom milking routine started, strong enough to make the cup slide up and down over him.
Markit was not a good cow. He thrust and bucked, shifted and swayed, swatted his tail at the door and cried out sounds that made the other cows startle - but the stall ignored all this. It carried on milking even though it could detect barely a drop of milk - switching from rapid pulsing suction to long strokes of the robotic arm to massage the cow's teat, as the custom routine for Cow One dictated. It took more than five minutes before it detected milk at last - swiftly sucked and pumped into the manifold towards the collecting tank. This cow was unproductive though, not close to meeting the quota, and so the machine carried on.
Markit's first orgasm was fast, and overwhelming - the force of it was enough that he would have thrown his head back and cried out, if he could have lifted his head. Instead he could only cry and thrust towards the arm as it switched again from rapid suction to long and forceful strokes squeezing his shaft in a fitting slightly to small. He remained just aware enough to see the motion of the tube across from the food trough - the splash of white from his own stall mixing in with the far greater flow of milk from cows upstream. Today's batch of milk would be slightly enriched. Before he could start to calm down again the machine began to pulse again. Without the clamp over his neck and doors on his rear he would have fallen over. No respite was given: The milking machine would not stop until the cow was milked.
It was another twenty-five minutes before the routine finished, and Markit was able to back slowly and unsteadily out. The first orgasm had been easy for him, and the second. By the third the machine had to work longer. He had lost count then - was it four, or five, or six? Most of the cows were gone now - only a few of the last arrivals still passed through the shed as they left their stalls, joined by one weak-legged, feather-ruffled gryphon still panting as he turned, spread his wings and awkwardly took to the sky.